


The Grand Future

by Inkaley



Series: The Grand Cause [2]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dating, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Love, M/M, Mild Gore, POV First Person, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 86,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkaley/pseuds/Inkaley
Summary: A heartfelt kiss high upon the watchtower, and they both knew there was no going back. Having finally found each other, Nick and Troy may seem to have gotten their happy ending. But their future together has just begun.A happy collection of episodes from their life as a couple, following the events of "The Grand Cause".





	1. Of Lucky Chances and New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, welcome back! I'm really sorry it took me so long to finish this, but surprisingly my "little" bonus chapter turned out a bit bigger than originally planned ;) I hope you won't mind, though ;)  
> I decided to post this in a new story, so anyone who liked the ending of the main story just as it is, can always leave it at that and enjoy it independetly from these bonus chapters, that will definitely be of a lighter and fluffier tone than the original story.  
> So here we go with the first one of my promised bonus chapters, picking up exactly where we left right after chapter five, at the night of the festival.  
> Hope you'll enjoy!

Turns out Troy hasn’t eaten yet either, so our first destination at the festival is the canteen, where luckily there’s plenty of stew left even though most of the people at the ranch already had their dinner.

Many of the tables in front of the canteen pavilion are free, lampions bathing the place in the gentle glow of dozens of golden lights.

We get ourselves two huge bowls – because seriously, those past days have been one crazy rollercoaster ride of worry, uncertainty and fear, so I’m ready to dig in like a wolf. Apparently, it’s no different for Troy, so at first there isn’t much of a conversation going on at our dining table – we’re both far too busy replenishing our energy reserves.

“This is _so_ good,” I say eventually, chewing with a happy smile as I shoot him a look.

“Yeah,” he agrees quickly, taking another spoonful of stew, “and we sure as hell deserved it.”

“Absolutely,” I nod firmly, giving Mrs. Andrews an acknowledging thumbs-up as she casually looks up from her pots in the kitchen. She answers my gesture with a happy smile.

“So, did you get a chance to talk to Jake yet?” I ask, turning my attention back to Troy, who tears off a piece of his bread to dip it into his stew.

“About the water pump?” he asks back, then shrugs. “We only spoke briefly. He was in a bit of a hurry. So looks like for the time being we’ll stick to supply runs to the factory every two or three months, but next time with more militia tagging along, to better protect the party. Jake said if we establish an outpost there, we might end up drawing more attention to the factory than necessary, so leaving it abandoned might paradoxically be the better option to hold it.”

I snort, but yeah, I guess it makes sense. “The only problem is that this’ll leave the ranch vulnerable every two months, with half of our militia out on a field trip to Austin.”

“Well,” Troy laughs quietly as I say this, “believe it or not, Walker’s already sent us a list of goods he’d be willing to trade for water, and it’s really good stuff.” Smirking, “Told you that guy was desperate!”

I pause in my eating for a moment, looking at him. “I see… So you think if the water helps us cement the peace with Walker, the risk of an attack in our absence will decrease.”

He nods, tilting the bowl to scrape together one final spoonful of stew. And after a few moments of silence, he shrugs. “So turns out in the end, handling things your way was the right choice after all.”

“Maybe,” I frown, “but it was a close call nevertheless. We got a happy ending, yeah, luckily, but I’ve learned my lesson still. I don’t think I’d go for broke again anytime soon.”

Chuckling, he pushes his bowl away, finishing before me, then reaches for the water jug on the table to fill our glasses. “New mission, new choices,” he settles for in the end, meeting my eyes for a second. “In this case, it was a very lucky chance for all of us you stood up and made me change my mind. Here you go.” Handing me a glass of water.

“Thanks,” I say, then smile at him and chuckle. “Well,” I go on, now shooting him a fond look, “it wasn’t just a lucky chance for the ranch. It was also one for us.”

He casts down his eyes immediately, but at the same time cracks a smile that radiates all the way into my heart. “It sure was,” he agrees immediately, then raises his glass and looks at me. “To unexpected lucky chances?”

I clink glasses with him. “And all the good things that may come from them.”

 

We’re both taking a sip, when suddenly someone pats me on the shoulder and before we even realize what’s going on, Coop and Cory have joined us at the table.

“Hey there, boys,” Coop greets us with an amicable grin, sitting down on the bench next to Troy. “You done diggin’ in?”

Sharing a look, it’s obvious that we’re both quite disappointed our moment got crashed like that, but then again, Coop and Cory both seem in a really good mood, so it’s not like we could actually be angry with them for too long.

“Troy is,” I reply eventually, “I’m not,” pointing with my spoon at my bowl.

“Then whatcha waitin’ for, Clark,” Cory pushes, “finish it, we wanna play cards.”

“We do?” Troy asks him with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course,” Coop replies with an innocent shrug. “We need four players and you’re the only ones available.” He magically pulls a deck from his pockets and starts shuffling.

Since they’d never take no for an answer, playing cards it is.

Alright, I admit it, I’m making it sound more tedious than it actually is. Of course playing cards with the guys is fun, as always, even if I wouldn’t have complained about spending the evening alone with Troy. But then again, there’s really no rush. After all, I’ve lasted twenty years without him, so one extra hour of card game shouldn’t make much of a difference either.

Apparently, Troy thinks so, too, because not even five minutes later, he’s taking the game so seriously, he ends up hoisting himself up to sit on the table top, resting his feet on the bench next to me, to deprive Coop of the possibility to “always peek into his hand”.

So in the end, we’re all having a great time, laughing every time one of us manages to pull off a ploy and has the others fall for it, or when Troy and I covertly get allotted to the same team but he falsely assumes he was actually with Cory – and keeps sabotaging my efforts until I elbow him in the shins.

I on the other hand find myself at the center of everyone’s mockery and teasing when I try to pull off an exceptionally smart move but utterly fail when Coop sees through it last second, and Troy simply cannot refrain from reminding me with a smirk that not even twenty minutes ago I insisted I wouldn’t go for broke again anytime soon. “Didn’t last very long, that big resolution of yours, huh, Nicky?”

So for the next one and a half hours, we’re all having a lot of fun, even though occasionally I catch myself playing a wrong card – as strangely the well-toned shape of Troy’s thigh on the table top seems to have quite the distractive effect on me…

Eventually it’s getting cold sitting around like that even in our jackets, so at about half past eleven we decide to call it a night.

Whereas Coop heads home, Cory returns to the remaining celebrating people, so I end up alone with Troy.

“Wanna take a walk?” I ask him, as we get up from the benches as well.

“Sure,” he agrees, and I smile at the prospect of finally being alone with him again.

 

Minutes later, we’re strolling across the nightly fields and meadows of the ranch, a little bit off the beaten tracks. The noises and music from the festival reach us quietly, a muffled mumbling in the distance.

We only rarely exchange a few words out here, rather just enjoying each other’s company, new and unfamiliar to both of us, the nightly silence of the dark world around us in such stark contrast to the laughter and fun from our card game minutes ago. Out here, the tender moments we shared on the watchtower earlier seem more present than ever.

I shoot him a glance from the side. The handsome face illuminated by the moonlight, the stern look in his eyes as he gazes into the distance – breathtaking.

“You know,” I tell him with a playful voice, “if this were one of those epic silver screen romances and not the messed-up post-apocalyptic bullshit it is, this would be the moment for you to take me to  your favorite place from your childhood, a tree house you built or something, and we’d share a super romantic moment there…”

“Well,” Troy chuckles good-naturedly, then shrugs, “never really watched movies like that – and besides, I don’t really have a favorite place… Sort of spent every day out here when I was a kid, so I guess you could say anywhere on the ranch is my favorite place.”

“Anywhere, huh?” I repeat, then turn towards him with a smirk and he returns it with a grin. “Even better, then,” I murmur, voice low, as I close the distance between us, leaning in and softly reaching for his cheek.

Right at that moment however, the headlights of a car break through the darkness, and as we turn around, we spot Jake’s red pick-up on the road leading up towards his house. Generally, the way from the center of the ranch to his place is not a distance that would necessarily require a vehicle, but since Alicia is supposed to rest her leg as much as possible, they’ve probably decided to take the car to return home from the festival.

Having parked in front of the house, Alicia gets out of the passenger seat and both of them head for the door, Jake holding something in his hands that from the distance looks like a bottle of wine.

“Look at those two lovebirds,” I shake my head with mock-contempt (sheepishly ignoring the fact we just had our own romantic moment crashed…).

“Yeah,” Troy replies, joining in with the irony. “Probably planning on celebrating their _happy reunion_ tonight.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” I cross my arms before my chest, trying hard to stay serious. Then however, as I keep gazing towards Jake’s place, a sudden thought crosses my mind. “Hey,” I say, turning to Troy with a raised eyebrow. “How about we play them a little prank?”

At first he looks at me with surprise in his eyes, then however there’s a smirk spreading over his face, and there it is, my answer.

 

It doesn’t take long for us to reach the little house on the hillside. Sneaking stealthily through the darkness, we eventually reach the brightly lit windows, taking a peek inside.

Alicia’s sitting on the sofa in the living room, her leg once again resting on a tiny chair. Jake on the other hand is in the kitchen, taking two wineglasses from the cupboard – and turns out the bottle he was carrying was indeed a bottle of red wine, now waiting on the kitchen counter for Jake to pick up the corkscrew and open it.

“How about we snatch the wine,” Troy whispers immediately. “Love to see their faces when they notice it’s gone.”

I can’t help chuckling in anticipation. “I’m so in.”

He shoots me an appreciating grin. “Okay, then take position by the window next to the kitchen counter. I’ll lure him to the backdoor, and as soon as he’s out of the kitchen, you grab the bottle.” Troy’s immediately back in his element, giving orders as if this was a crucial mission the fate of the entire ranch depended on.

I can’t help chuckling at that, but give him a confirming salute anyway. “Aye, aye, sir,” I reply, fighting desperately to suppress my snicker.

Troy then turns away and I sneak over to the window closest to our target. Crouching underneath the sill, I observe Jake’s shadow on the ground in front of my feet. He’s moving from one side to the other, probably to get the corkscrew, but it doesn’t take long until he suddenly freezes and turns around, then his shadow vanishes.

Carefully, I risk a quick glance inside. The kitchen’s empty. So it worked! He must be on his way to the backdoor right now, to check out that strange rustling noise coming from outside. I don’t hesitate. As quick as lightning, I reach under the window sash, push it up, and not even a second later, I’m holding the bottle of wine in my hands.

Cradling it in my arms like a thief would hold his precious loot, I keep crouching under the window, waiting, listening for any kind of noise.

Eventually, there’s Troy peeking around the corner.

Triumphantly, I show him the bottle and he grins, then beckons me over. There’s a few bushes a little further up the hillside, the perfect hiding place for us to get a good view into the kitchen.

And indeed, it doesn’t take long until Jake returns, corkscrew ready in his hands, but the look on his face as soon as he stops and stares at the empty counter is just priceless.

Neither Troy nor I can hold back the occasional snicker.

Jake, immediately suspicious, comes over to the window. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Come on,” Troy hisses, giving me a clap on the shoulder, “let’s get outta here!”

Both bursting out with laughter, we hurry off, Jake of course immediately spotting us as we stumble out of the bushes.

“Hey. Hey!” he yells immediately, getting away from the window and reappearing in the door, but we’re already hurrying down the hill cross-country, laughing breathlessly.

“You gotta be kidding me, Troy!” he shouts. “Give the wine back!”

Troy slows down his pace as he turns around. “We’re no thieves, brother,” he calls back, raising his hands to prove they’re empty. “The bottle’s still with you, you just need to look for it!”

It’s true. We wanted to tease them a little, not ruin their (frankly also well-deserved) night. So we left the bottle in the bushes.

“A man’s gotta work for his pleasures, Jake!” I add, grinning wide as I give him two thumbs-up.

At that moment, a second silhouette appears next to Jake and then it’s Alicia’s voice reaching us from the distance. “You’re such a dumbass, Nick! Grow up!”

It only gets us to laugh even harder, and once we’re out of sight, I suddenly feel Troy’s hands on my arm, grabbing it to steady himself from all the laughter.

I in return wrap my arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer.

We stagger on like that for a few more steps, tottering rather than walking, and eventually his arms find their way around me as well, and before we even know it, we find ourselves locked in a light-hearted kiss, with all the goofy fun and the excitement making us chuckle against each other’s lips.

Immediately, that incredible feeling of warmth is back, the one that spread through every fiber of my heart back up there on the watchtower, and right in this moment I realize it: Him and me, we fit each other so perfectly, so effortlessly, like we were meant to be all along.

Intensifying the kiss to give it more meaning, I immediately feel him grow more heavy-hearted as well, his fingers suddenly digging into the fabric of my jacket, holding onto it, as if he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t suddenly disappear into thin air right here in his arms.

“It’s okay,” I whisper against his lips reassuringly, “I’m with you.” And eventually I break away.

He opens his eyes and looks at me with a mixture of happiness and melancholy.

I smile, reaching for his cheek. “I’m with you,” I repeat.

 

Eventually, and more or less intentional, our stroll has taken us to the Ottos’ house. In front of the porch we stop and it feels like time to say goodbye.

I can see in Troy’s eyes that he’s suddenly more nervous than before. With growing unease, he puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket and looks at me. “So, do you wanna come in, or…?”

I’m not sure if he says that because he actually wants to or because he just thinks it’s what’s being expected from him right now. But truth is I don’t feel like engaging in another round of he-thinks-I-think-he-thinks, so I simply go with the honest reply. “Well, it depends on what you mean by _come in_ ,” I start bluntly. “I’d love to come in, to talk and spend some more time together. But I shouldn’t spend the night.” I hold his eyes as I say this, hoping he’ll understand.

It’s not that I wouldn’t want to, in all honesty. But I really think we need more time to cement this bond between us first and learn to trust each other. We’ll only get one second shot at having sex, and if he ends up checking out in the middle of it once again, there won’t be any more excuses for us to cling to.

“Okay,” he whispers eventually, looking away with a nod. Whether he’s relieved, disappointed or even hurt by this, I can’t tell.

Suddenly worried it might be the latter, I’m quick to add, “You know, to be honest, I think we _both_ could have done better that night.” That seems like a fair compromise to settle for. “So maybe we should take things a little more slowly.” Still keeping my eyes on him, I put my hands in the pocket of my jacket as well. “If that’s okay with you, I’d love to come in.”

Troy’s eyes lock back to mine, and now his expression seems sincere, but friendly. “That’s okay with me,” he confirms, and a few blinks later his reply is followed by a tiny smile, so hopefully we’re good.

I end up returning it. “Cool.” I turn around, climbing the porch. “Then what are we waiting for? It’s getting cold!”

 

Troy unlocks the door and it is a relief indeed to get inside where it’s cozy and warm. I hadn’t even noticed the night has grown this cold. I really hope Jake and Alicia were able to find the bottle, otherwise they may soon be able to plunge the corkscrew into the wine and eat it like a popsicle.

“Sorry for the mess…” Troy murmurs apologetically, closing the door behind us. “I wasn’t expecting…”

He trails off, but as I take a few steps into the living room and let my eyes wander around for a moment, everything actually looks perfectly fine to me.

Unexpectedly however, my eyes come to rest on the desk to my right, and for a second I feel a ghostly punch knocking the air out of my lungs.

For a second, from the darkest depths of the abyss – which is this very desk – the scornful eyes of Jeremiah Otto stare back at me – and to my horror, it’s actually the same beautiful eyes that mesmerized me with Troy earlier on the watchtower. Taunting, Jeremiah’s wicked laughter resounds in my head, and aghast I turn away, shaking my head vehemently as if to free my soul from the dark memories.

“Everything alright?” Troy asks over his shoulder, hanging his jacket on the coat hook.

Overwhelmed by a sudden nausea, I’m unable to reply, and my silence makes him turn around.

Alarmed by my apparent distressed condition, he’s with me in the blink of an eye. “What’s wrong, Nick?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I manage to utter eventually, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to straighten up. _Stay strong, Nick_ , I tell myself. _Stay strong!_

“I realize I never told you how sorry I am for what I did to you,” I whisper eventually, not daring to meet his eyes. “I know saying this won’t help in the slightest. It won’t make it any better nor can it make the tragedy undone, but I’m not asking you to forgive me. All I want is for you to know.”

From the corner of my eyes, I notice his concern for me turning into shock at first, then he gets a hold of himself. “You know, no matter the kind of person he was, he was my dad and I loved him,” he says, his voice quiet but collected. “Being here without him, in this house, with all the rooms so empty and quiet, day after day, it… _hurts_.”

I keep my eyes fixed on the desk and the chair behind it, the very spot Jeremiah sat when he took his final breath. When my bullet pierced his brain.

Troy continues. “I’m sorry. I wish I could forgive you. I do realize we wouldn’t be in this place right now, happy and safe, if things had turned out differently.” He looks away. “I know I should be grateful for that. It’s just so strange, I’m caught in the middle. I wish I could have both, him alive as well as this happiness I feel when I think of our peace… and us.”

Giving him a weak smile over my shoulder, I reply, “I’d love that, too.” Then shake my head. “But the world’s a cruel place.”

“It is,” Troy agrees, then takes a deep breath, apparently struggling to find the right words. “I guess in the end, I at least wanted to believe. I wanted to believe his heroic sacrifice was true. If I can’t change the fact that he died, then at least I wanted to believe he died a hero protecting our home.”

I turn around now, facing him. Speaking softly, full of compassion, “I understand, I really do. But in the end, it wouldn’t have made it any easier to cope with the loss, trust me. I know what I’m talking about.” Casting my eyes down. “My dad took his own life as well.”

Troy’s eyes widen as I say this and for a moment he’s speechless.

“Thought my mom would have told you.”

Shaking his head, “No, she hasn’t…”

I purse my lips absent-mindedly. “Crashed his car on the way home from work.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I shake my head. “I was actually in rehab when it happened, so I only learned a few days later.” Pausing, as for a moment I’m right back in that room, with my mom waiting for me, dressed all black. “The world loves a cruel irony, doesn’t it?” I murmur quietly. “You know, my girlfriend back then, Gloria, she was with me in rehab, too. We had this thing, some kind of role play… It was stupid. We would take the roles of each other’s parents, practicing the moment we’d be confronted with them again. Rehearse all the things we’ve always wanted to hurl at them.”

Biting my lip, I go on, “That day, Gloria was all like, ‘Come on, Nick, it’s me, your dad. Now tell me what you hate about me.’ And I was like, ‘There’s nothing I hate about him, really. He’s always nice, always quiet…’ But she kept insisting, pushed me to come up with something. ‘Come on, Nick, there _has_ to be something that bugs you about him!’ And…” shaking my head with a frown, “all of a sudden, everything came bursting outta me, breaking free like a storm. I was like, ‘You’re never there for me when I need you! You’re never there at all! You don’t even have dinner with us, say you’re too busy working in your study. And when we do end up talking, I can see you hear what I have to say, but it doesn’t feel like you’re actually _listening_. You left me, for some reason, and I don’t even know why!’”

I realize I’ve started yelling, just retelling that story. So lowering my voice, I go on, resigning, “It’s just… For the first time, I think, I’d actually realized the truth about what a sad, lonely person he must be. And the cruel irony was that the very moment I said all those things out loud, my dad wasn’t even breathing anymore.”

“I’m so sorry, Nick,” Troy says, voice shaken and full of compassion.

I meet his eyes, sighing. “I guess what I’m trying to say is: At least for you there’s someone to blame. You can always think, ‘It was that heartless son of a bitch Nick Clark who did this to me!’. For me, there is no one I can direct my anger and hate at, no one but myself. Why couldn’t I stop it? Why didn’t I pick up the signs sooner? If I had, we might still be laughing together right now.”

“I get what you’re trying to say,” Troy whispers eventually, taking a step towards me. “But I guess in the end, either way is shit.”

The words hang in the air for a while, then I nod, giving him a weak snort. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Come on,” he says eventually, and I’m surprised to suddenly feel his hand on my shoulder. “Come on. Enough of this for tonight. It is what it is, we can’t change it. But today’s been such a wonderful day. Let’s not ruin that by letting the dark clouds get to us.”

“You’re right,” I whisper, nodding once more, putting my hand on his. Giving him a weak but appreciating smile. “Besides, it’s not like this will stop haunting us anytime soon. There’s ample of time for us to dwell on that ahead.”

He takes my cynicism with a sad chuckle. “No doubt about that.”

With an encouraging look in his eyes, he then lets his hand on my shoulder slide into mine. “Come on, now,” he says, gently tugging as he leads me to the kitchen.

The sadness that weighs on my heart is still there as I follow him, but there’s also something else. Solidarity. Hope. We’re the ones, I think, the ones who can help each other keep the dark clouds at bay – and if they do reach us after all, we’ll fight our way through them side by side.

 

“Want something to drink?” Troy asks once we’ve made our way to the kitchen.

 _Hell yeah_ , I think, _I could definitely use some booze right now!_

Opening one of the kitchen counters to peek inside, he lists, “We have water, coke, juice, tea, coffee…”

Oh, I think, startled and also a little disappointed there’s actually no hard liquor at all on that list. Slowly but surely I’m starting to regret we left the bottle of wine at Jake’s after all. Naturally, though, I don’t want to be an ungrateful guest, so in the end I try my best not to let my disappointment show. “Coffee sounds good,” I tell him eventually with an amicable smile.

“’kay,” he nods, taking two mugs from the cupboard and turning to the coffee machine.

While he starts preparing the coffee, I look around the kitchen, casually inspecting the many shelves in front of me. The kitchen’s neither a total mess – as you might expect from a guy living alone – nor perfectly clean. There’s used mugs and glasses in the sink, the small kitchen table apparently misused as additional shelf space – amongst other stuff I spot a bottle of scrubbing milk, a pair of gardening gloves and a Bunsen burner. But otherwise, the kitchen looks like any ordinary kitchen in everyday use.

“Oh, wow, you have cocoa powder as well,” I suddenly say, taking a package from one of the shelves to inspect it more closely. Cocoa powder – so common in the Old World, however I haven’t come across any – or even just thought of it – in the New One.

Shooting a quick look over his shoulder, he explains, “Oh, yeah. That’s actually Jake’s.”

Smiling, as I keep my eyes focused on the colorful package. “It’s been ages since I last had a hot chocolate.”

Stopping with the water tank in his hands, he turns to me. “You want one? It’s just instant powder, though.”

I reply with a goofy grin, “No, thanks. I wouldn’t want to steal Jake’s cocoa after I’ve technically already stolen his wine.”

Troy gives me a chuckle, then shrugs. “Well, he’s rarely here anymore. Besides, I don’t think he keeps track of the amount of cocoa powder in that package. I’ll have one, too, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Well,” shrugging sheepishly, “if I have a partner in crime once again, then yeah,” I counter with a grin, “I’d love to have one.”

 

Once the hot chocolate is ready, we carry our mugs to the living room and I let myself drop in the armchair while Troy takes a seat on the couch, crossed-legged.

“Brings back memories,” I sigh nostalgically, blowing at the hot chocolate, before taking a sip. “Really good, thanks.”

“I’ll forward that compliment to Jake,” Troy counters sarcastically with a smirk. “Or maybe not.”

I chuckle. Then eventually I shrug. “I think it’s strange how something as simple as a mug of hot chocolate can remind you of the Old World so vividly,” I muse after a while. “I mean, considering everything we’ve been through, we’ve sort of lost track of all those small, everyday things about life we used to enjoy.” Chuckling, as an unexpected thought crosses my mind. “It may sound silly, but for example I’ve always had fun returning empties. You know, when you insert your bottles in those reversed vending machines one by one, and it would spin the bottles to scan the barcode before accepting them?”

For a moment, there’s actually a smile curving his lips. “I always thought that was fun as well.”

“Really?” Feeling a little melancholic all of a sudden. “Or I’ve always loved that pure feeling of freedom on the last day of school before summer vacation, when I sat in the diner with my friends, munching burgers…”

He smiles, then absent-mindedly rubs his chin, thinking of something himself. “You know that feeling when you’re all alone in a quiet room and you’re starting to believe you’re the last person on Earth, and then you just turn on the radio and suddenly you get the impression you’re not alone anymore and totally connected to the outside world?”

I chuckle. “Spotting your bus turn around the corner one block ahead, and you just know it’s now or never if you still wanna catch it?”

“Riding your bike through the woods and taking in the fresh cool air, without worrying about any walkers lurking in the undergrowth?”

“Driving through the car wash!” I add, clicking my fingers.

He chuckles. “Driving through the car wash and realizing one second too late the window’s still open.”

He says this and I stare at him for a few blinks with my eyes wide open. Then I burst into laughter. “No _way_! You too?!”

“What do you mean, _you too_? _You too_?”

I’m still grinning like crazy. “Oh, me so too.” I shift on the armchair, stretching as I hold my mug out to him, and he takes the cue, leaning forward to close the remaining distance. I clink my mug against his in solidarity – the hot chocolate version of a fist bump.

We both take a sip and I smile, but the taste keeps reminding me of times when my family sat together in the kitchen, Alicia and me kids, and the world was still in order. I sigh, heart growing heavy with melancholy. “There’s so much I’m already starting to forget. The creaking sound our bathroom windows used to make when we opened it. The familiar smell of home when you stepped through the front door.” My eyes must have grown distant.

“You missin’ home?” he asks me eventually, shooting me a sympathetic look.

“Yeah,” I reply with a nod, “yeah, of course. I miss our house, I miss my room, my bed, my stuff…” Shrugging. “Even had a dream once, about going back.”

“We could, if you want to,” he points out. “Three and a half hours tops to L. A.”

“Nah…” I purse my lips. “There wouldn’t be anything left to find. I’m sure it’s been raided by now. And seeing that would hurt even more.” Shaking my head. “Doesn’t matter. I mean, even if we were still living there, it wouldn’t be the same anymore. It wouldn’t be the home we used to know and loved if all we could do was sit there locked up like in a fortress with dead people shuffling by our living room windows.”

He gives me a weak smile. “Probably not.”

I shrug, shaking my head. “Can’t be helped. We’re not the first ones to lose our homes, we won’t be the last. And I mean, just because you’ve lost a home doesn’t mean you’ll never find a new one, right?” Giving him a hopeful glance.

He doesn’t reply at first, but there’s a tender look in his eyes as he gazes back at me for a moment. Then he smiles encouragingly. “Right.” And this time, it’s him holding his mug out to me.

 

When I open my eyes again, I notice it’s already starting to dawn outside. Drowsily, I try to sit up, frowning as a piercing pain suddenly flashes from my hip through my entire body – I’ve fallen asleep in this awkward sitting position on the armchair with my legs drawn to my chest, my cheek leaning against the backrest. Obviously not very comfortable.

The room around me is dark and quiet.

Shifting slowly and taking a deep breath to properly wake up, I notice Troy asleep on the couch, lying there on his side, head resting on his arm, breathing evenly.

What the hell… I can’t even recall when or how I’ve fallen asleep. Apparently our conversation hadn’t been the most thrilling… No, wait! There hadn’t been a conversation at all. My eyes fall on the old cassette player on the coffee table.

Reminiscing some more about old times, Troy had told me about how as a kid he’d once recorded several hours of radio broadcast just to catch a certain song he’d liked back at that time – not knowing that this would one day become an invaluable document of the Old World, including songs, commercials and news of one random day in 1997. I’d immediately been super excited about listening to it, but in hindsight I’ve apparently not lasted very long. I remember laughing so hard at Hanson’s “MMMBop” – oh, God bless the 90s… –, then listening to “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks, and also vaguely R. Kelly belting out his “I believe I can fly”, but I fear that eventually got the better of me.

Chuckling quietly, I get up from the armchair. So here I am, waking up at Troy’s, even though I’d been so determined to go back to the cottage… Well, objectively it’s not morning yet. If I leave now, I technically won’t have spent the night, and I’ll stay true to my original intentions – besides, getting one or two hours of proper sleep in an actual bed before having to get up for real definitely sounds like a good idea.

Stretching lazily, my eyes come to rest on Troy, still soundly asleep. For a moment, I can’t resist the opportunity to gaze at him as much as I like without feeling uncomfortable, taking in every detail of his face. Realizing once again how handsome he actually is, I can hardly resist the urge to touch him, to let my hand run through the messy hair and kiss him goodbye, but I know touching him would only startle and wake him, so, _no_.

All I grant myself are these few precious moments of gazing at him with a gentle smile on my face, a sight I’ll always treasure in my heart as the end of a really wonderful day, and the beginning of something maybe even better.

Eventually, I don’t want to leave without any kind of goodbye either, so quietly I grab a piece of paper from the shelf, hastily scribbling a short note. I place it on the coffee table next to him, then – taking one final look at him – I put on my jacket and hurry outside into the cold and – once again misty – fall night.

 

_Alright, so much for not spending the night…_

_Still half an hour left till sunrise though, so gotta run to keep my credibility!_

_Thanks for the hot chocolate and generally this fun night. We should do that again soon – and raid Jake’s stocks some more._

_See you at breakfast? Hopefully!_

_– Nick_


	2. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for the long wait! But now I finally managed to get the next chapter done :)  
> Thanks to everyone who commented on and/or had fun reading the previous chapter, I hope you'll enjoy this one as well :)  
> As promised, we're finally seeing their families finding out about the relationship. Hope you'll like it!

One day, about two and a half weeks later, Troy and I spend the entire morning on fence patrol, scouting the ranch’s immediate surroundings for possible threats and killing the walkers that have accumulated here to keep their numbers in check and minimize the risks of them damaging the fence by putting too much weight against it trying to get inside.

At half past eleven, our shift’s finally over and it’s on Paul and Alex to take over. We quickly have lunch at the canteen, and even though I wouldn’t have minded at all to walk home, Troy insists on driving me the rest of the way up to the cottage.

“So, any plans this afternoon?” he asks me once we’re almost there.

“Yeah, sort of,” I reply, taking a skeptical look at the sky. “If the weather keeps up, I wanted to take care of my roof… I’m basically done with it, but there’re still two or three leaky spots I need to locate and fix.” Shooting him a glance from the side. “Why, you wanna help?”

“Fixing your roof?” he asks, snorting. “Nah, think I’ll pass.” Then he shrugs. “Don’t have much time anyway. Coop and a few guys are planning to head out for a supply run at three. Said I’d tag along.”

We’ve reached the cottage and Troy stops the car at the side of the small building.

“Always spending so much time with Coop,” I tsk, shaking my head. “Should I start feeling jealous?”

Troy laughs at first, then shrugs, mock-pondering. “Well, he does have the nicer head of hair…”

“Of course,” I nod ironically, then shift on my seat to turn towards him and put my hand on the back of his neck to bring our faces close. “And I’m sure he’s the better kisser as well…” I whisper, already closing my eyes to catch his lips in a teasing kiss.

He’s quick to hum his approval, leaning in as well to deepen the kiss, and immediately I feel his hand on my side, softly sliding to my back to pull me even closer.

“Head and shoulders above you,” he assesses once we break away, holding my eyes defiantly, even though he utterly fails to cover up the way his eyes basically shine back at me with affection. “But then again,” he goes on, rubbing his chin as he ponders theatrically, “I may have to gather more data…” Smirking, he leans in once more and I chuckle as he catches my lips in a second kiss, and I’m quick to respond passionately, running my hand through his hair.

Needless to say, I’m very pleased with the progress he’s been making in just this short time we’ve been together. He’s a quick learner and an even more attentive observer, and watching him thaw a little more with every kiss we share never fails to warm my heart. After all, his lack of experience had mainly originated from a lack of opportunity, certainly not from a lack of confidence.

“Hm, tricky…” he murmurs skeptically as he pulls back, and looks at me innocently. “No… sorry, no. Still not convinced…”

“Liar!” I accuse him, giving him a gentle cuff to the back of his head, and because his playful chuckle at that is just so endearing, I can’t resist stealing one last quick kiss before getting out of the car.

“See you tomorrow,” I smile, before shutting the door. “Take care on your supply run.”

“Will do,” he replies fondly, “and good luck with your roof.”

 

I walk over to the front of the house as Troy turns the car around and heads back for the ranch. With surprise however I immediately notice the door is wide open. What the hell?! I wasn’t expecting any guests.

Peeking inside with a wary look, I spot Alicia standing in front of my mini fridge, scanning its content.

_Gosh, how long has she been here?_ I think, shuddering for a moment. Did she spot Troy and me in the car just now?!

“Looking for something?” I ask as casually as possible, but luckily by the way I startle her, it doesn’t seem she was expecting me to show up in the door anytime soon. Phew!

“Nick, geez!” she calls reproachfully. “You scared me.”

Shooting her a suspicious glance. “You raiding my fridge?”

Right at that moment she turns around however, holding two bottles of beer. “I was just planning on offering you a drink.” Giving me her most innocent grin.

I snort at her quick-wittedness, taking one of the bottles. “And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?

She nods at a bunch of paper sheets on my table. “Jake asked me to bring you these. Said you were looking for the construction plans of the original cottage.”

“Cool,” I comment, immediately picking up the folder, flipping through the pages. “Exactly what I needed, thanks.”

“No probs,” she replies, opening her bottle. Then she heads outside and sits down in front of the cottage, overlooking the ranch.

I take off my camouflage jacket. It’s a pretty warm day for Mid-October, so the dark T-shirt I’m wearing underneath will do. Opening my bottle as well, I join her outside, plopping down next to her.

Clinking bottles, we both take a sip, then she nods at my military pants. “Training with the militia?” she asks me after a few moments.

“Fence patrol, actually,” I correct her. “Been out there since six.”

“That’s sort of become your thing, huh?” she asks quickly, “Fence patrol. Everytime I hear someone talk about fence patrol, it usually doesn’t take long until your name is dropped as well.”

“I dunno,” I shrug, shooting her a glance. “Maybe it’s silly, but I keep having this fear that one day Travis might come back. And if he does, I wanna spare Mom the sight.” Keeping my eyes on her, because I need to see her reaction.

She just frowns. “You know, honestly,” she murmurs quietly, her eyes growing distant as she shakes her head slowly, “I’m not even sure there’s enough of him left to walk. And even if that were the case, it’s a hell of a hike from where the helicopter crashed. He could as well have shuffled off in the opposite direction and already be long gone.”

“I know,” I reply with a sigh. “But we’ll never know until he’s standing at our fences, won’t we? And that’s the moment I dread.”

I turn my eyes back to the ranch. All the way over at the barracks, I spot Troy getting out of the car and talking to Coop and Jimmy, who’re standing outside the entrance. After a few moments, they start loading the truck with boxes.

“If that moment does come,” I go on eventually, “I need it to be Troy or me he runs into. Not Mom.”

“Why Troy?” Alicia asks, looking at me.

“Well, he knows about this fear of mine,” I explain truthfully. “Promised he’d keep an eye open as well.”

“So, you’re still bonding with him?” she concludes eventually, eyes locked on me.

“Yeah, I guess,” I reply with a shrug. “That’s what we’re all doing here after all, isn’t it? Sticking close to the people in charge?”

Before I can babble on some more about staying on the Ottos’ good side, she interrupts me and her glance pierces all the way into my soul.

“Mom told me what you’re doing.”

The words linger in the air between us for a while, taking their time to sink in. I stare at her wide-eyed.

No way! This has to be a joke! Alicia knows?! How much? Since when?

_Calm down_ , I think. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe she’s actually referring to something else. Or maybe Mom has given her the kindergarten version of the truth. I need to be careful with my reply. If I reveal too much, I could end up giving her a confession that wasn’t even necessary.

So taking the safe route, I start playing dumb. “What do you mean?”

“You manipulating him, by feigning a crush,” she states, now shocking me for real.

What the hell? She knows the whole story? Thanks, Mom. I asked you not to tell anyone! Well, not explicitly in all fairness, but I mean that goes without saying, doesn’t it?!

Just great… Well, I guess now that the beans are spilled, there’s no use pretending anymore.

“I take it you don’t like the idea,” I suggest eventually, taking another gulp of my beer, before eyeing her closely to figure out what she thinks of that.

“I think it’s very brave,” she replies eventually, taking me by surprise. “But it’s also very stupid.”

That gets me to snort. “So basically it sounds like me,” I deadpan, shooting her a wry grin.

She replies with a good-natured chuckle. “Just don’t overdo it, okay? You know what he’s capable of.”

I shrug, letting my eyes wander into the distance, coming to rest once again on Troy who’s still busy carrying boxes to the pickups with his men. “Don’t worry,” I whisper, almost to myself. “Troy would never hurt me.”

Shrugging, Alicia purses her lips, then adds bitterly, “I’m pretty sure Mike thought so, too.”

“This is different,” I insist, and as expected she gives me a skeptical look.

Alright, so here I am, faced with two options. I can just shrug it off and end the conversation, or – if I’m planning to actually confide in someone – this would be my chance to tell her. But how would she react? For all I know, she can’t stand Troy’s guts, not with all the will in the world. And yet, at least as far as the first half of this story goes, she seemed pretty cool with it. She’s my sister and I love her – and if I need anyone to understand and have my back, it’s her.

“If I tell you something,” I start, shooting her a glance from the side, “will you promise not to freak out?”

She’s taking a sip, then her eyes lock back to mine, unsettled. “What is it?” she asks warily.

“It’s not an act,” I say, suddenly hearing my own words as if they came from a stranger. Forcing myself to hold her eyes, I repeat, “It’s not an act anymore. It’s real.”

“What,” she replies with an insecure smile. Shaking her head, she goes on, “What are you saying?”

I turn my eyes back to the ranch, suddenly unable to bear her look anymore. “I think I’ve fallen in love with him.”

“With _Troy_?!” she clarifies, disbelieving.

I nod.

Her frown deepens. The look in her eyes makes it obvious she thinks I’ve lost my mind. “How? _Why_?” Shaking her head. “What _on earth_ could there be that would even just make him _likeable_?”

I swallow. Yeah, congratulations, Nick. You saw it coming, didn’t you, and you were still dumb enough to go for it.

Alicia’s eyes weigh on me like a heavy burden. Her voice mixes with sarcasm. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you think there’s actually some kind of similarity between you and him. Don’t tell me you recognize yourself in him.”

I don’t reply, but that’s already enough of an answer to her.

“He’s a _murderer_ ,” she points out bluntly.

“We’re _all_ murderers, Alicia,” I counter immediately. “Anyone who’s made it this far has blood on their hands, one way or another.”

Of course she immediately knows what I’m actually referring to as I say this.

“You killed _one_ person,” she reminds me. “One evil person to save us all. He on the other hand killed dozens of innocent people, for nothing.”

“Well, can you really weigh kills against each other like that?” I reply, suddenly holding her eyes. “Are two murders twice as bad as one? I’d say that’s a fallacy. Because in my opinion, one single murder is already as terrible as a hundred.”

She holds her breath as she stares at me.

“Whether it was Troy killing Luciana’s people, Walker killing Travis, or me killing Jeremiah – every time you kill someone, it leaves their loved ones heartbroken,” I point out, voice shaking. “And to them, it doesn’t matter if there are a dozen other families around them grieving as well. Their pain alone is all that matters. It’s real and hard and absolute, and this already makes it the worst sin anyone could ever commit.”

She looks away, and a bit softer, I add, “Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not absolving him from his deeds. On the contrary. The pain he caused is unforgiveable.” Casting my eyes down. “But so is the pain that I caused.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she whispers eventually. “Maybe for the ones left behind it really doesn’t matter how many other people were killed as well. But that doesn’t mean it _shouldn’t_ matter.” Her eyes dart back to me. “There’s a difference between _having to kill_ and _wanting to kill_ , Nick,” she insists empathically. “And that’s the difference between Troy and you. You’re a good person.”

I feel her hand on my shoulder.

“Whereas he…” She pauses, then shakes her head. “So I just can’t understand how anyone could fall in love with someone like him.”

“It’s not the bloodlust that I’m drawn to,” I point out darkly after a while. “There’s so much more to him than that.” I look back at her, my eyes honest. “There’s good in him, Alicia. He cares so much about this place and his family, and he’s kind and gentle when he sees the ones he cares about suffer. He was there for me when I needed him. When Mom and you were taken and I was about to lose my mind with worry, he stood by me.”

She casts her eyes down.

“I am aware of this darkness inside of him,” I assure her. “And this huge guilt that can never be forgiven. I can’t forgive it. The only thing I can do is find a way to accept it, to accept this part of him, to live with it.” Shaking my head. “I can’t change the past. I can’t bring any of the people he killed back to life, but maybe, at least for the future, I can bring out the goodness in him some more. Maybe knowing there’s someone out there who loves him and whom he loves in return, can keep the wildness in check. Maybe this can be a second chance.” And – this I don’t say out loud, but it’s what I believe: If there’s hope for someone as lost as Troy, then it means there has to be hope for me as well.

I’m turning to Alicia now, taking her hand. “Look. I’m not asking you to like him. I’m not even asking you to forgive him. All I ask is that you don’t forsake me.”

She holds my eyes for a long, long while. Then she raises her eyebrows. “Fair enough,” she whispers eventually. And softer, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, she adds, “And don’t be ridiculous. I’d never.”

I look back at her for a few blinks, then she sighs resigning, shooting me a weak smile.

I return it with gratitude, pulling her into a heartfelt embrace, smiling against her hair as a surge of relief finally takes that huge weight off my mind. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she whispers back, wrapping her arms around me as well.

This is all I wanted, all I needed to hear. Her being okay with it. Her understanding. Her having my back. Thank God I told her. Thank God she can accept it.

“You do remember, though,” she points out, once we break away. “When we first met him he tried to kill us and perform his sick experiments on us.” With a weak snort, she growls, “I sure hope this isn’t some kind of Stockholm syndrome.”

I can’t help chuckling at this sudden idea. “Well,” I shrug with a weak grin, “If it is, then he sure as hell’s suffering from it as well,” I counter. “After all, he wants to be with the man who shot his father.”

“Phew, Nick,” she sighs and looks at me, pursing her lips. “This is some seriously messed up shit you’ve gotten yourself into once again, you know that?”

“Yeah…” I reply sheepishly. “That too sounds like me.”

She ends up chuckling weakly, then takes a huge gulp of her beer.

For a while we just sit there in silence, then I notice her eyes have come to rest on Troy and the boxes as well. Eventually – and still shaking her head in disbelief – she shoots me a glance. “So how long’s this thing been going on, between you and him?”

“Ever since the water pump mission,” I tell her truthfully, and she replies with yet another snort.

“Geez, one just can’t leave you alone, huh?”

I shrug with a goofy grin.

“Does Mom know?”

I shake my head. “She knows about the act, but she didn’t get the update yet.”

“I see,” she nods, chuckling quietly.

“And please don’t tell her,” I add after a few blinks. “I have to do this myself.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she reassures me immediately. “I certainly won’t risk her accidentally biting _my_ head off.”

I shoot her a look, then end up laughing anyway. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

She gives me a good-natured grin.

Voice growing serious again, I glance at her. “So, you think you could be okay with this?”

“It’s a lot to swallow, I admit,” she confesses after a short while. “But you’re a grown man. You can make your own decisions.” Giving me an encouraging smile. “Just promise me you’ll stay on your guard, at least for now.”

“I will, I promise,” I reply earnestly.

She empties her bottle, then gives me one final nod. “Good.” Beating her pants, she gets up from the dusty ground. And as she looks down at me, there’s suddenly a playful smirk curving her lips. “And if he ever tries to hurt you, you come and get your lil’ sis’, and imma teach him a lesson!”

Bursting out into laughter immediately, I lean back on my elbows, enjoying this sudden euphoria as my relief at her being okay with it mixes with this joy. Giving her a fond look, I smile. “You rock, you know that?”

 

***

 

Once Alicia’s left, I’m getting up from the ground as well, fetch my ladder and get to work with fixing the leaks in the roof. It takes me almost one hour to even locate the leaky spots, so once I know what I’m actually dealing with, I take a little trip to the ranch’s pantry, getting a bunch of spare shingles, gathering them on a pile of spare material in front of the cottage.

I’m still sitting on top of my ladder, readjusting the shingles with a hammer, when suddenly I end up receiving yet another unexpected visitor.

There’s Jake’s pickup approaching my cottage, eventually slowing down and stopping right in front of my door.

“Busy with the cottage?” Jake calls, once he gets out of the car, coming over to me and taking an extensive look at my grand masterpiece.

“There’s no end to it,” I point out, breaking yet another batch of damaged shingles off the roof. “As soon as I fix one problem, two others seem to pop up out of nowhere.”

He inspects the rebuilt cottage with curiosity, even takes a quick glance inside. “Amazing job, though,” he praises, genuinely impressed. “When it burnt down, I honestly thought it was beyond saving. But look at it now – with all the hard work you put into it, it’s as good as new.”

Pausing for a moment, I look down at him from the ladder. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious,” Jake insists. “And it does mean something to me, too, seeing the place rebuilt,” he adds with a shrug. “Before Russel and Martha moved in, this was actually my parents’ house. I grew up here, the first few years of my life. And even after we moved, I kept coming back all the time to play in the cottage.”

“I know,” I tell him with a nod, and as he gives me a questioning glance, I explain, “Jeremiah told me.”

Quickly smiling to himself, Jake nods. “Of course. I forgot.”

“But I guess you didn’t come all the way up here just to inspect my work, did you?” I ask, looking at him curiously.

Smiling once more, he puts his hands into his pockets. “No, actually not. I came here because of Troy.”

“Troy?” I counter, surprised. “Did something happen?” But right at that moment, an unsettling suspicion slowly creeps into my mind. _Oh no, she didn’t._

“Alicia told me,” Jake says, confirming my fear and I close my eyes.

Gosh, Alicia! First Mom, now you?! It hasn’t even been three hours. Did you really have to rush off like that and tell your boyfriend straightaway? Can’t anyone in this family keep a secret?! Seriously!

Yeah, yeah. At the bottom of my heart, I may get why she did it. Jake’s the man she loves after all, and given the fact that he’s Troy’s brother, our relationship may concern him as much as it concerns Alicia.

It’s too late now anyway. I’ll have to trust that at least Jake will be able to handle this information with the appropriate sensitivity.

Trying to present this appeal with humor, I shoot Jake a smirk. “So is this gonna spread person by person now and whoever finds out comes here requesting an audience with me?”

Getting Jake to chuckle. “I promise you, my lips are sealed. And Alicia’s are, too. Just don’t blame her. I sensed something was off and bugged her until she told me. No one else will find out from us, if you don’t want to, you have my word.”

“Yeah, it would indeed be great if you could at least grant me a little head start to break it to Troy, before he ends up reading about it in the _Broke Jaw Ranch Daily_.”

Chuckling quietly once more, Jake reassures me, “Don’t worry.”

“Good,” I nod, then turn back to my work, attaching another shingle to the roof. “So, let me guess,” I say, in between the hammer blows. “If I hurt Troy, you’re gonna hurt me?”

From the corner of my eyes, I spot Jake looking up at me, shooting me one of his radiant, amicable smiles. “That goes without saying,” he informs me, and I can’t help feeling a little shudder creeping up my back. No one else manages to package a threat with that much charm… Scary. And for a moment I actually wonder whether Troy’s really the more ruthless brother or just less skilled at covering it.

To my surprise however, Jake isn’t done yet. Shrugging, he points out, “I’ll also hurt Troy, if he hurts you.”

That gets me to stop in my work once more and, perplexed, I turn my head, blinking at Jake. “Alright, that’s unconventional. You’ve piqued my interest.” Then, offhandedly, I nod at the pile of shingles on the ground next to the ladder. “Hand me another one, will you?”

“Sure.” He picks up one of them. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Nailing this one to the roof as well, I shrug. “You may be aware, though, we’re already caught in quite the deadlock situation.” Pointing out nonchalantly, “If you hurt me, Alicia’s gonna hurt you. And then Troy’s gonna hurt Alicia. And then I’ll have to hurt Troy, and that means you’ll be back to hurting me again… Could grow into one hell of a vicious circle if you ask me.”

“Well, all the more reason to make sure it doesn’t come to that, isn’t it?” he counters, smile still as friendly as before.

“Obviously,” I agree.

He hands me the next shingle before I even have to ask for it.

Then eventually, his voice grows all serious and I notice the smile’s gone. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…,” looking up at me, “thank you.”

“Thank you?” I repeat, genuinely surprised by his sudden earnestness. “For what?”

“For giving my brother a chance,” he explains. “You may have guessed, he doesn’t have that much experience with relationships yet.”

“Yeah, I already figured out that much,” I chip in sarcastically.

“I’m aware he’s not an easy person,” Jake goes on, “and he… he does have many flaws, but I really think being in a loving relationship could help keep him grounded, have a positive effect on him.”

“I hope so, too,” I murmur, almost a little absent-mindedly.

“So I wanted to ask you to please be patient with him. This is new to him and he doesn’t have any behavioral patterns for something like that yet, so he’s bound to make mistakes. Don’t let him get away with too much and make sure to show him his boundaries whenever necessary. But don’t give up on him too soon.”

I’ve descended the ladder as he spoke, now standing next to him, my face as serious as his. “I will, Jake, I promise,” I tell him earnestly. “But I’m not adopting a wounded kitten from the animal shelter. This is a relationship, and there’s a balance of giving and taking that runs both ways.” Shaking my head. “It’s not like it’s just me being good for him. Or him being good for me.” I hold his eyes. “We’re good for each other.”

He looks at me for quite a while, then suddenly there’s an honest smile curving his lips, conveying relief and hope just as much as amusement and joy. “That’s great, Nick. I’m happy to hear that.”

“You should tell him, not me,” I suggest, letting my gaze roam across the ranch. “I’m sure it would mean a lot to him knowing his big brother will have his back.” Thinking of how much it meant to me knowing Alicia’s okay with it.

“I will,” Jake assures me.

Suddenly having second thoughts though, I wave at him hastily. “But not before I get the chance to talk to him first!” I remind him.

Chuckling, he reassures me, “I’m a man of my word.”

“Good,” I say, picking up the next shingle myself before turning around to re-climb the ladder.

“You do know they say it’s gonna rain tonight,” he informs me casually, then points at the many shingles left on the ground. “You think you’ll be done by then?”

“Probably not,” I shrug. “But I’ve got a few buckets prepared.”

He keeps staring at the shingles for a few moments, then shrugs. “You know what, I actually don’t have anywhere to be.” Looking at me with a smirk, “You got a spare hammer?”

 

***

 

All evening long, I’m keeping an eye on the ranch gates, waiting for Troy and the others to return from their raid. Nothing happens until around nine, when I finally spot the headlights of the pickups approaching the ranch. I decide to give Troy some time to help unload the supplies and walk home afterwards before assaulting him with this little confession of mine, so I wait until ten before putting on my jacket and heading across the ranch to tell Troy about my eventful afternoon.

The windows are lit once I arrive at his place, so – lucky me – he’s already home.

I knock and just a few seconds later, he opens.

“Nick,” he greets me, surprised but also happy to see me.

“Hey, Troy,” I greet back, giving him a smile that matches the warmth in his eyes. “How was the supply run?”

“Oh, good, really good,” he tells me immediately, even though it’s obvious he’s still wondering why I came here all this way just to ask that, but as far as I can tell, he’s not suspecting any ulterior motive either. “A few walkers roaming the place, otherwise everything went perfectly smooth.”

“Nice,” I reply. “Glad you’re back safely.”

He shoots me another smile, appreciating my concern. Then however another thought seems to cross his mind. “By the way, I got you a little gift.”

“Me?” I reply, blinking in surprise.

“Wait a sec,” he tells me, then vanishes inside, and not even ten seconds later, he returns, handing me a package the size of a shoe box – but definitely heavier.

“You wanted a camping stove for the cottage, didn’t you?” he asks, looking up from the package to me. “You said you’d found one during our raid at the camping site, but lost it when the place was run over. So I thought…”

“God, this is amazing,” I tell him excitedly. “Yeah, I wanted one so badly, thank you so much!” Shooting him a fond look, I notice how happy he is himself to see me thrilled about the present, and it warms my heart. “So I guess the next hot chocolate will be served at my place?”

He grins back at me, merrily. “That’s a date.”

“Come here,” I whisper, pulling him closer to me to express my gratitude with a kiss, and I can feel him smile against my lips.

“So worth it,” he hums merrily once we break away.

Being touched by this compliment as much as his gift, I keep gazing at him for a while, my eyes full of affection. _This is why I love him, Alicia_ , I think to myself. _This is the Troy I fell in love with._

“So what about your roof?” he asks me eventually, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Did you manage to get everything done?”

Alright, so here we go, I think a bit melancholically. Let’s hope I won’t end up butchering our sweet moment too badly. “Yeah, great…” I reply immediately. Then shoot him a look. “I managed to fix all the leaks in time.”

“Wow, that’s amazing, Nick,” he praises. “And you thought you couldn’t do it because it seemed like so much work.”

“In all fairness, I had a little help,” I shrug, shooting him a glance. “Jake.”

Frowning immediately, Troy repeats. “Jake?”

I nod. “Actually, Troy, there’s something I need to tell you.”

His face grows stern, not able to figure out where I’m going with this or what all of this could actually be about.

“As it turns out,” I start, clearing my throat several times, then give him a sheepish look, “I fear Jake and Alicia may have found out about us…”

He grows pale immediately, not replying anything. Then he gives me an accusing look. “Why? How?” he growls, implying it must have been me.

“Alicia caught us kissing in the car earlier,” I lie, but to my defense, I don’t really have a choice. The truth would have been, ‘Sorry, I had to tell her because she found out I’d been pretending to be in love with you’, and that confession, in all honesty, isn’t something I could strain our relationship with just yet.

“Oh,” is all he replies to that, suddenly all sheepish and guilty as well.

“But don’t worry, they’re both totally cool with it,” I point out quickly. “They’re actually really happy for us.”

Troy’s still frowning. “So happy Jake immediately helped you fix your roof out of the goodness of his heart and totally didn’t grill you about me?”

“Grill me?” I repeat, shaking my head. “No, he just wanted to be nice.”

“So he didn’t ask you any questions about our relationship?” Troy pushes on.

“Well, yeah, he did,” I concede. “But not to be nosy. He just wanted to make sure everything is fine between us.” Adding with a placable grin, “Check if I’m good enough for you.”

Troy however just snorts at that. “That’s not up to him to decide.”

“Troy,” I say eventually, putting my hands on his shoulders. “Jake loves you. All he wanted was to make sure you’re happy.”

The way I say this must have gotten to him after all, as suddenly his irritation fades and he casts his eyes down. Putting his hands on my wrists, he whispers, “I _am_ happy.”

I smile at him. “I’m happy, too.”

Looking up at me, he gives me a shy but hopeful look. “Yeah?” he asks softly, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” I confirm with a chuckle, closing my eyes and leaning in to kiss him once more. “Of course.”

The smile’s back on his face as we eventually break away. “So that means we should be a little more careful from now on when we kiss in the car?”

“Probably,” I reply, then shoot him a sarcastic grin. “And maaaybe also on the porch at your front door like… well, just now!”

“Touché,” he admits sheepishly, catching a glimpse at the rest of the ranch over my shoulder. “It’s really dark, though.”

“Lucky us,” I counter with a snicker.

He smiles back at me for a moment, then shrugs. “Hey, you know what? I mean, since you’re already here now…” He kicks the door open wide, offering me to come inside. “How would you feel about _not spending the night_ once again?” Conjuring up a wry grin.

I look at him a little perplexed at first, then however reply with a chuckle. “Well, since you’re asking so nicely…” Returning the goofy smirk. “I’d love _not to spend the night_.”


	3. Madison and the Hammer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks so much for all your comments on the previous chapter! I was really happy to hear you enjoyed the first bunch of reactions to the romance so far :) So as promised, here we go with the next big one, Madison finding out :) There's also a hammer involved, but see for yourself :)  
> Let me know what you think! And just a little teaser, it won't be long now until they take their relationship to the next level ;) Hope you'll stick around!

What an incredible feeling! The warm afternoon sun on my skin, the salty ocean scent in my nose, the fresh sea breeze in my hair. With an enthralled smile, I step on the familiar planks of the _Abigail_.

My God, who would have guessed I’d ever see this boat again in my life! Not to mention actually _sail_ with it, finally returning to the secure realm of the ocean, the one place that’s still safe from the dead.

It’s so amazing, this euphoria spreading from my heart through my entire body, as I lean on the rail, gazing back at the distant shore, knowing that whatever madness is going on over there, here, in our little sanctuary, it cannot reach us anymore.

Apparently, this comforting feeling of finally, _truly_ being safe isn’t just raising my own spirits.

“Come in, Nick!” Alicia calls from the picture book blue of the sea. “The water’s amazing!”

I put my hands on the rail for a moment, looking down at her with a smile. She’s wearing her blue diving goggles and waves at me, before she plunges into water once again.

I turn around to look for Troy, maybe he wouldn’t mind to take a little swim either, and it doesn’t take long until I spot him at the back of the yacht, sitting on the edge and leisurely holding his fishing rod. He looks so calm and at peace out here. The maritime life surely seems to be doing him good.

I’m just about to come over to him, maybe crack a joke about the fish he may or may not have caught yet, when suddenly I notice he’s not alone. There’s someone sitting next to him, fishing as well, and only once that man turns his head to talk to Troy, I realize it’s actually… his dad!

Jeremiah Otto! My God, alive and in the flesh. There’s a sting in my heart that actually takes my breath away for a moment, but quickly my frown dissolves again. Geez, all this time I’d been convinced I’d shot him, while in truth I haven’t! He’s alive! He’s alive and he’s with us.

What a relief! Another surge of euphoria raises my spirits even higher. So that means I’m innocent! I’ve never really murdered anyone! My slate is still clean, my soul pure.

My first instinct is to run to him, talk to him, but right at that moment, Jeremiah takes Troy’s fishing rod and starts explaining something to him, mimicking casting it. _No, wait a second, Nick._ They deserve this sweet father son moment. It’s not my place to interrupt.

Deciding to join Alicia by myself, I turn around – and nearly bump into Victor, who’s just coming down the steps from the upper deck. “Woah!” He catches me immediately, then gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Daydreaming, much?”

“Sorry,” I murmur automatically,

He shoots me his trademark grin, then nods up to the deck, where my mom is standing at the helm, a silly captain’s hat on her head. “She’s doing a great job, your mom, you know that?” he points out, his eyes suddenly a little distant.

“Yeah, I know,” I reply melancholically, getting the feeling that Victor’s not just referring to her navigating the ship.

He gives me a meaningful wink, then disappears below, and I’m just about to hurry over to Alicia, when all of a sudden someone else emerges from the darkness Victor just vanished into. And this time, I _really_ can’t trust my eyes.

It’s _Dad._

The world starts spinning as I’m hit with a sudden fit of nausea, then I’m standing eye to eye with him, and even though he must notice my shock, he just smiles at me. A smile I could gaze at all day. The dark eyes, the little wrinkles around them as he smiles, the familiar blond beard. “You alright?” he asks, looking at me with a mixture of worry and affection.

My eyes grow misty with joy. “For the first time in years, I actually may be.”

He chuckles at that, then ruffles my hair. I notice he’s holding my toolbox in his hands, the one I used to fix the cottage, the one Troy stole from the hardware store the day of the Apocalypse. What a strange twist of fate that it came all this way just to end up in my father’s hands.

He notices me stare at the equipment and smiles. “I spotted a few planks out here that are a little rotten. What do you say, Nick?” he asks with a shrug. “Wanna help me fix them?”

“Hell, yeah!” I nod eagerly, I want to! I want to _so badly!_

But before we can get to work, the ground underneath my feet starts seesawing, the yacht must have run into a wave…

And slowly but surely I realize it’s not actually the boat shaking, but the mattress I’m lying on, as something warm breaks away from my grip.

Drowsily, I open my eyes, catching a glimpse of Troy sitting up in the orange glow of the morning sun that frames the drawn curtains of the cottage.

Looking down at me over his shoulder as he notices me wake up, he whispers, “Nice dream?”

“Huh?” I reply, rubbing my eyes.

“You were smiling in your sleep.”

“Was I?” I ask back. I remember I did have a beautiful dream, yeah, but the memory of it was gone instantaneously when I opened my eyes, as it is usually the case with dreams. The only souvenir I’m left with is a wonderful feeling of warmth thoroughly resounding in my heart. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

“’bout me?” he inquires, raising his eyebrows teasingly.

“Well,” I shrug, returning his look with a smirk, “why dream when you have reality?”

He chuckles at that.

“No, I…” I murmur then, lying back down, staring at the ceiling, “I don’t remember… But it wasn’t the kind of good dream that leaves you with some sort of sadness when it’s over, like something was taken from you. It was the kind of good dream that makes you feel perfectly content,” I explain, feeling a gentle smile curving my lips. “Like having eaten a gorgeous piece of cake and you’re just happy thinking back to how delicious it tasted.”

He snickers softly at that, then gives me a shrug. “Sorry I woke you,” he whispers immediately. “But I gotta go…”

“Go?” I repeat, propping myself on my elbows. “ _But Romeo_ ,” I object theatrically, grabbing a handful of his shirt to keep him from leaving, “ _it is not yet near day!_ ”

Chuckling, he smiles down at me, and judging by the way this lights up the room, it may very well be noon already.

“The dead don’t sleep,” he whispers, gently trying to loosen my grip. “And Liam and Jimmy are waiting for me.”

“Ah-ah!” I protest immediately, boisterously pointing at my lips.

He relents with a good-natured sigh, then leans in to me, giving me a quick kiss – but it’s basically not much more than a peck.

“Oh, come on,” I say, holding his eyes defiantly, “you can do better than that.” Meaningfully tugging at his shirt.

“Tsk,” he counters with a sigh, but the smirk that’s starting to spread on his face gives away he’s far from being annoyed by my persistence.

The next moment I’m snickering happily as he turns back to me, catches my lips in a far more appropriate way and softly pushes me back down on the pillows.

I wrap my arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer. And merrily I whisper, “There we go…”

Seriously, why dream when you have reality?

 

***

 

Once Troy’s left, I get up as well, wash up and change into my casual clothes.

The first item on my timetable today is shooting practice at eleven. Until then, I’ve got the morning off, so I’m not in a hurry to have breakfast. I decide to take a leisurely stroll to the canteen, when just outside the cottage I run into my mom.

“Morning,” I greet with surprise, still a bit sleepy. “Lookin’ for me?”

“Morning,” she replies, shooting me a smile, but I immediately notice there’s something on her mind, even though she’s trying to hide it. “Yeah, actually Mrs. Franks was planning on harvesting a few of the fields today and Cory told me you still have the keys for the pickup…”

“Oh, yeah, I do, sorry,” I admit quickly. Totally forgot to bring them back. It was already last week when I used the car to bring a few bags of mortar up here... “Wait a sec, I’ll get them.”

I’m just about to reopen the door, when Mom suddenly grabs my arm to catch my attention.

“I have to ask…” she starts, then turns around and gestures towards the ranch. “Was that just Troy I saw on my way here?”

I gaze past her. Spotting the small figure heading towards the ranch center in the distance. Theatrically squinting my eyes. “I dunno. Does Troy have a blue jacket?”

Okay, that was a weak attempt at playing dumb, I admit that. And the guilty look in my eyes must betray my lying.

“Pretty early for a visit, isn’t it?” she continues, not even reacting to my sorry charade.

“Visit?” I repeat dumbly once more, desperately struggling to figure out a smart way to react.

“He was here, wasn’t he?” she pushes, turning her eyes back to me. “I mean, there’s nothing up here except for the cottage.”

I blink at her for a few moments, then eventually snap out of my stupor. “Oh, yeah, yeah, he was here,” I reply, making it sound as if I’d just recalled, extensively rubbing my eyes to stress how totally I’m not awake yet. “He, uhm, he just dropped by on his way to the barracks to ask me… uhm… if I could take his shift tonight since… uhm…” Shooting her a smile to cover up my stammering, “he’s got plans with Jake.”

“Oh, Troy, too?” Mom replies with genuine surprise. “‘cause Alicia told me that she and Jake were planning on having a romantic dinner tonight.”

“Oh…” I mumble, hugely disappointed, casting my eyes to the ground. That’s indeed a most unfortunate coincidence… Some kind of cosmic force must be very keen on watching me get tangled up in my excuses… Even though objectively I have to admit, the thought is pretty funny: Alicia and Jake gazing at each other lovingly over the candlelight – with Troy sitting at their table like a fifth wheel…

Well, I would have chuckled, if it weren’t for the fact that I may be forced to make my big confession to my mom any minute now – something I’ve been trying to put off as long as possible, even though Alicia and Jake have already been in on the secret for more than two weeks now.

It doesn’t matter. Sooner or later she’ll have to find out anyway. So why not get this over with now?

Looking back at her, I open my mouth and take a deep breath. Then I close it again. “Hey, uhm… You want some coffee?”

 

The rising morning sun falling in through the windows plunges the cottage in a gentle golden light.

It takes me a while to slowly pour the boiling water in the coffee dripper – I have to stop several times to wait for the coffee to trickle into the coffee pot – but Mom’s patient. Sitting at the small table next to the door, she watches me as I reach up and take two mugs from the shelf.

“That’s really a nice little camping stove you got there,” she says eventually. “Happy you finally managed to find one after all.”

“Yeah, it’s super handy,” I confirm, focusing back on the coffee.  “Even though it wasn’t actually me, the one who found it.” I notice my hands are a little moist. I hope it’s because of the steamy water I’m handling. Somehow I doubt it. “It was a gift.” Swallowing. “From Troy.” For a second, I watch her from the corner of my eyes. Then I turn around to face her.

She stares back at me, expression unfazed. “Has he been making advances to you?” she asks, voice steady.

“Yeah,” I confess. “But... they’re not unwelcome.”

That’s it. I said it. For a moment, I’m surprised I actually went through with it. Considering the way she reacted when all I did was tell her about the act… How will she react to an actual love confession? And what if she’s against it? I mean, yeah, I’m full-aged, I can make my own decisions. But could I really be happy in a relationship that half my family’s opposed to?

“Please tell me you’re not talking yourself into this to make it bearable,” is what she replies after a while, voice a mixture of seriousness and worry.

“I’m not!” I insist immediately. Casting my eyes down as I’m suddenly unable to look her in the eyes anymore. “It’s genuine,” I murmur. “I’ve fallen in love with him.”

She looks at me for a long, long time, and there’s some strange look in her eyes I can’t quite read. Then – to my complete and utter surprise – there’s actually a weak smile curving her lips. “Thank God.”

_Thank… what?!_ I stare at her, speechless, certain I must have misheard. I mean, Alicia accepting it for my sake, Jake promising to protect me against his brother – they both surprised me with their reactions in a way, but neither of them even came close to make me feel what I’m feeling right now. The mere thought of her being _relieved_ by my confession, turns my world view upside down. “Come again?”

“Thank God,” she repeats nonchalantly, then shrugs. “I mean, we both knew it, right when you told me you were trying to manipulate him: There’s no going back from that. You’re stuck with this, forever, whether you like it or not.” Pursing her lips in sympathy. “So yeah, I’m relieved you fell in love with him. Because I wouldn’t want my son to be in a pretend relationship for the rest of his life.”

“Mom…” I stare at her for several moments, feeling my heart grow heavy and light at the same time: Heavy, realizing her first and foremost concern is not some rational calculus, but my future happiness; light, because after all, she might be okay with it.

Sure, Troy’s certainly far from your typical mother-in-law’s delight, but no matter the animosity, the wariness, the mind games, Troy and her have certainly forged a special bond unlike anyone else here at the ranch, a bond of mutual understanding, trust even. She’s been the first to grow aware of this vulnerable side of him, way back when I was still busy coming up with ways to murder him.

Shooting her a hopeful look, I ask, “So you’re saying you’re… fine with it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _fine_ ,” she admits a bit reluctantly. “I haven’t been fine with it from the very start.” Her gaze grows a little distant as she explains, “I would have preferred if it was me, the one in the line of fire.” Then her eyes lock back to me. “But you turned the tables and presented me with a fait accompli. There’s nothing I can do about it anymore.” Shrugging. “Since Troy apparently fell for it right at the beginning and assumed you were genuine all along, the way I see it, the risk itself hasn’t changed, now that you actually feel something. It’s still as high as it was when you were pretending. And believe me, I wish it wasn’t there at all. But that’s what we’re stuck with. So if it at least means you get a chance of being happy along the way, then _yeah_ , I back it.”

I hold her eyes. “You never cease to surprise me…”

She counters with a smirk. “Says the boy who just confessed his love for Troy Otto to me.”

I can’t help chuckling. “Touché.”

The coffee’s ready by now, so I eventually turn around, remove the dripper and start filling our mugs. “Here you go,” I say, handing one of them to her, before sitting down on the other chair.

“Thanks,” she replies, dropping a sugar cube into her drink. For a moment, the soft clinking of her stirring the coffee is the only sound filling the cottage.

Then, eventually, she sighs melancholically. “So, first Alicia and Jake, now you and Troy…” She shakes her head, then gives me a self-ironic look, “For the record, when I said we should try to get closer to the people here at the ranch, I didn’t exactly mean the two of you should immediately throw yourselves at Otto’s sons…”

I can’t help chuckling at that, as I shake my head. “Well, I didn’t exactly _throw_ myself at Troy,” I point out. Then shrug with a grin, “It was more of a stumbling movement…” Adding sheepishly, “Considering the act and all.”

“Was it ever?” she asks suddenly, looking up from her coffee.

Frowning, I shoot her a puzzled look. “Was it what?”

“An act,” she explains. “Was it ever an act?”

Perplexed, I stare back at her. Wait a minute… Is she assuming I lied to her, making up some story about manipulating Troy just to cover up a crush I was embarrassed of?! “ _Of course_ it was,” I insist quickly. “I did it for us, to survive.” Shaking my head, I look away. Then, more calmly, I go on. “Truth is, if it hadn’t been for the act, I would have never come to feel this way for him. As you said, he fell for it, almost right from the start. He thought it was genuine, and that got him to show me another side of him. Suddenly, he was acting differently towards me. Gentle, caring. And that’s when I started to see him in a different light.” I shake my head. “It would have never come to this if I hadn’t made the first step, even if it was a fake one.”

She gives me a look, and I think I even spot a bit of empathy in it.

I shrug. “I don’t know…” I murmur helplessly. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… Sometimes you do something for a specific reason – like me wanting to get Troy to go for the water pump option –, but without even knowing you’ve laid the groundwork for something much bigger, and maybe even better.” Absentmindedly playing with the spoon in my hand. “It was the same when we came to the ranch. We came here to _survive_. But look at us now, we might have found a place to _live_.”

“Huh…” she murmurs softly, still stirring her coffee.

“I know it didn’t seem like it in the beginning,” I admit. “We lost so much and we knew there were as many threats inside the ranch as there were outside: A stubborn, racist old man calling the shots, his psychopathic, murderous son on the loose and a bunch of angry Native Americans at our throat thirsting for revenge.” I shrug. “And yet, today we’re happy here. Jeremiah’s dead, and with Jake in charge, we got the best one of us as our leader. He’s sincere, smart, honest, kind, dependable, pacifist. And we have managed to make peace with Walker. More than that even. If there ever was a new threat on the horizon, our two communities might well fight side by side to fend it off. And as for Troy…”

Suddenly a little absent-mindedly, I watch the dark liquid in my mug swirl. “Knowing him a little better, I realized something. Everytime he’s done something truly evil so far, he’s been outside the ranch and he’s been alone.” I shrug. “If he’s outside with the militia, nothing bad happens. If he’s alone at home, nothing bad happens either. It’s as if by feeling lost and abandoned, he loses his anchor of sorts. So maybe by being a family to him, by giving him security and warmth, we can be his anchor.”

I notice she’s been eying me very closely as I spoke, but the look on her face is unreadable.

“I really wanna give it a shot, Mom,” I tell her honestly, meeting her gaze. “I do believe we can build ourselves a life here.”

She keeps holding my eyes for a while, then eventually there’s a knowing, maybe even a little proud smile curving her lips and she chuckles softly. “Then let’s hope you’re better at reading tea leaves than you are at brewing ground coffee.”

“What?!” I protest immediately, shooting her a mock-offended look, while in truth I’m grateful for this change of mood. “This is hand-filtered, ma’am,” I insist boldly, giving her a huff. “You’re just an ungrateful guest.”

Chuckling quietly, she smiles at me. “I’m just kidding. You’re doing a great job, Nick – and I’m not just talking about the coffee.”

 

***

 

One day, Mid-November – about one week after Madison had learned of her son’s unexpected feelings for Troy – she’s once again climbing the steep path leading to Nick’s cottage.

For the past few days, she’s been helping with the harvest, but since the exhaustion is slowly but surely getting the better of everyone, it has been decided to take a more extensive lunch break today before getting back to work in the afternoon.

Recalling Nick telling her he’d be off patrol today as well, she decided to check with him if maybe he felt like having lunch together with her.

As she approaches the cottage, however, she startles immediately as unexpectedly she notices muffled voices coming from inside.

“Woah, Nick, it’s _huge_ …” Troy’s voice. “It’s never gonna fit…”

“Oh, it’s gonna fit, trust me,” comes Nick’s reply. “Now, less talking and more working. Focus on getting it up yourself!”

Startled by a sudden, deeply disturbing thought, Madison pauses in her steps, hesitating for a moment whether she should just turn around on her heels and forget she ever heard this. Maybe she should. Because if she does approach the door, there’s quite the chance she might regret it for the rest of her life.

“It’s up…” Troy announces, voice conspicuously strained. “I’m ready.”

“Alright,” Nick replies darkly. “On the count of three… One, two…!”

A loud groaning is what follows, and after a few seconds of silence, there’s a rhythmic knocking against the wall.

Frown deepening, Madison shakes her head. No freaking _way_. She must be seeing things! Who would ever do something like that with their door wide open? No one. And especially not Nick.

Thinking about it, she doesn’t really have a choice but to approach the door after all. Even if it was just to reassure herself all that’s going on in there is some innocent… whatever it could be.

So taking the risk of witnessing something she’d never ever wanted to see, she takes the final few steps towards the cottage – and reluctantly peeks inside.

At that moment, her eyes widen at the sight – even though for a totally different reason than she’d originally feared.

Nick and Troy are standing on the opposite wall next to the bed, struggling to hold something that looks like a giant picture. An extremely heavy one apparently, since both men are hardly able to keep it at its destined position on the wall. Even less so, as Nick’s standing on the edge of the bed, holding his side of the frame with only one hand and awkwardly hammering a nail into the wall with the other one.

“Hurry,” Troy urges, “it’s slipping through my fingers…”

“Just one more second,” Nick pants in return. Right at that moment, however, the hammer hits the nail in such a bad angle, it chips off the wall and drops to the ground.

“Bloody hell, not _again_!” Nick curses, climbing off the bed and hastily putting both hands back on the frame to take a bit of the load off Troy.

Softly, Madison knocks on the doorframe to make her presence known. “Am I interrupting?”

Nick and Troy turn their heads towards her immediately.

“No, actually you’re just on cue,” Nick replies quickly. “Can you take a look if this is leveled out?”

Frowning, Madison gives them a skeptical glance. “Honestly, no,” she tells them bluntly. “It’s hopelessly crooked.”

“See? Told you!” Troy hisses at Nick immediately.

“What kind of handyman are you anyway, hanging a picture without using a bubble level?” Madison shoots her son a criticizing look.

“Yeah, _excuse_ me,” Nick defends immediately. “I sort of got my hands full…”

“Let’s just put it down,” Troy suggests. “We need to align the nails first.”

Apparently, putting the huge picture down is as much effort as it was lifting it up. So once it’s leaning against the wall, both Nick and Troy straighten up with whews and sighs.

Madison takes a few steps towards them, speechlessly staring at the object. “What _is_ that anyway?” The picture’s easily seven feet long and three high – if you can even call it a picture. It’s more of a sculpture, a chaotic assembly of scrap metal, pipes and gear wheels. Maybe it’s modern art. Definitely it’s hideous.

“It’s massive steel,” comes Troy’s explanation as he gives the picture an equally disdainful look. “And it weighs a ton.”

“It’s _art_ ,” Nick corrects immediately. “I took it from a museum. I’m sure it was expensive once, and now it’s mine and I’m hanging it in a random cottage somewhere in the middle of nowhere – no offence, Troy.” Shrugging, he looks back at her. “It’s a statement.”

Giving her son a skeptical look, Madison asks, “Statement for what?”

“Well,” Nick turns his eyes back to the picture. “Showing that a lot of things that used to be valuable in the Old World are insignificant and worthless in the New One.”

At that, Madison lowers her head. “If we think like that,” she murmurs darkly, “then already one generation from now, people will be nothing more than killing machines without morals, a codex, traditions or culture.”

Apparently, that doesn’t seem to alarm Troy that much. “But they’ll be alive,” he points out. “Isn’t that what really counts in the New World?” Shrugging. “After all, you can’t kill anyone with Shakespeare.”

Nick snorts, commenting off-handedly, “A lot of tormented students might disagree on that, Troy.”

“I don’t think that’s something to joke about,” Madison objects, shooting them both a disappointed look.

Troy on the other hand just snorts. “You sure sound like Jake, Madison,” he says. “Maybe you should team up with him. I mean…” he shrugs, “it’s not like we don’t have any kids here at the ranch. And didn’t you say you used to be a teacher in the Old World?” And with a little huff he adds, “I mean, Jake isn’t, but he sure as hell loves to lecture people, so the two of you sound like the perfect duo.” Growing serious again, he turns his eyes back to Madison. “If it means that much to you, no one will keep you from it.” Shooting Nick a quick look for confirmation.

“He’s got a point, Mom,” Nick adds encouragingly. “I mean, I couldn’t do it, certainly not. But you could.” Nodding towards the picture. “Maybe that’s proof that we’re gonna need both kinds of people in the New World: The ones _holding_ the picture, and the ones _making sure it’s leveled out_.”

For a long while, Madison just stands there, staring at both of them, thinking about their words. “You know what,” she says eventually, “I might actually do that.”

Shooting her a proud look, Nick grins. “Cool.” Then he rolls up his sleeve again. “So as your first official act as _Keeper of Knowledge and Traditions_ , why don’t you help us make sure _this picture’s_ leveled out?”

Returning his look with a defiant smirk, she turns around, walks over to the toolbox and fishes out a bubble scale. “It’s just a question of the right equipment, Mr. Handyman…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Nick replies, fondly rolling his eyes, before giving Troy a cue. “Ready?”

With a lot of effort, the two men manage to lift the picture once more and Madison hurries to put the bubble scale on the frame. Once it’s actually leveled out, she marks the spots for the nails with a pencil – and Troy and Nick are released from their agony once more.

Having now two hands available to hammer down the nails, this shouldn’t be a problem anymore either – or so Nick thought. At first, the nail seems to penetrate the wall only very reluctantly, just to all of a sudden vanish entirely.

“My God…” Nick takes in a sharp breath. “Now I get it. The nails aren’t long enough, that’s why it never worked.”

“What do you mean, not long enough?” Troy asks, closer inspecting the spot the nail has vanished into.

“There’s a gap between the cladding and the actual wall, for water pipes, cables and stuff,” Nick explains, knocking against the wall to demonstrate it’s hollow. “The nails I’ve tried to use only reach through the cladding, but don’t go all the way into the actual wall. They were grasping at nothing, unable to connect.”

“So what now?” Madison asks. “Do you have longer nails?”

Nick shakes his head. “But I believe I saw a few at the pantry.” Turning around, he heads for the door, thrusting the hammer into Madison’s hand as he passes her. “Hold on to this for a moment, will you?” he murmurs. “I’ll be a back in a second!”

With that, he’s gone, and Madison and Troy remain at the cottage alone.

 

At first, silence settles over the room, but Madison can literally feel Troy’s eyes on her: He wants to say something, it’s so obvious, and it doesn’t take long until he starts. Shooting her a smile, he nods at the picture, at the entire room.

“Nick’s amazing, you know…” he starts, giving her an honest look. “I mean not just here with the cottage. Generally. He’s smart, he’s confident, he’s funny.” Chuckling fondly to himself, “Also a little crazy…” Then looking back at Madison. “He’s an amazing person,” he concludes, sincerely.

“He is,” Madison confirms, holding his eyes for a moment, then she raises an eyebrow. “And he deserves to be treated accordingly.”

It’s obvious this isn’t just a statement. It’s a demand. A warning maybe even.

Troy’s eyes grow sharp immediately, his expression only slightly changing. Growing a little more distant, he snorts. “What… You think I’m not treating him well?”

“No, I’m just saying,” Madison replies, unfazed. “If you actually mean what you said, then it shouldn’t be a problem to agree with me.”

He stares at her for a long time, obviously trying to figure her out. And eventually he must have come to a conclusion as he turns away. Shrugging, he states, “I agree with you,” doing her the favor of saying it out loud. Then his eyes lock back to hers. “But even more than that. Nick means everything to me. I’m gonna keep him safe, always. I’m gonna protect him, no matter what it takes.”

Eyeing him for several moments, Madison eventually nods. “Good.”

Troy, however, isn’t done yet. “And I swear to you, Madison, as long as I’m alive, no harm shall ever come to him. I’ll see to that.”

“Neither from the dangers lurking outside the ranch nor from the people close to him?” she inquires, the look in her eyes suddenly intensifying.

He holds her eyes without flinching. “Of course not.”

“Very well,” she replies eventually, “because…” Absent-mindedly, she starts playing with the hammer, tossing it back and forth between her hands, back and forth…

A movement, that somehow seems to mesmerize Troy in a strange way.

She shrugs. “I can be pretty merciless when it comes to my family.”

Eyes still fixed on the hammer in her hands, Troy stays silent for a while. Then eventually, his eyes lock back to hers and, voice dark, he replies, “Well, good thing we’re all family now, then, isn’t it?” The look on his face suddenly challenging.

Madison stares back at him, eventually catching the hammer with her right hand, fingers clutching the tool firmly. “Yeah, good thing,” she agrees, holding his eyes defiantly.

For a moment, they keep staring at each other like that, then Troy cracks a smile.

Ostensibly amicable, she returns it, then averts her eyes to turn her attention back to the picture.

“So, no one got murdered today, that’s really good!” Nick’s voice suddenly chips in from the door as he barges in, “Because I swear to you, I was this close to choking Jimmy!” Shooting them both a displeased look. “He claimed he’d just used the final five inch nail we had to re-assemble his hamster’s litter box.”

Troy blinks at him, a confused frown appearing on his forehead. “He doesn’t have a hamster.”

Nick returns the look, eyebrows raised. “Well, duh!” Pulling two nails from his pocket and holding them into the air as if he’d just retrieved Excalibur. “Now guys,” he nods at Madison and Troy encouragingly. “Let’s get this over with!”

Reclaiming the hammer from his mother, Nick positions the first nail right at the pencil mark on the wall, slowly striking a few blows. At first, not much happens, then suddenly the nail breaks into the wall, half of it disappearing at once. “That was the cladding,” Nick explains, then drives the nail into the wall the rest of the way. “And that is the actual wall,” he announces proudly once the nail is in place. Shooting them a smile over his shoulder, as he tries to joggle it. “See? Absolutely secure!”

“Great job,” Madison praises.

And also Troy shoots him an impressed smile. “Then I guess the time’s come…”

Nodding, Nick entrusts the hammer to Madison once more as he and Troy get into position left and right of the picture. Struggling to lift it once more, the nails actually hold this time and half a minute later, the deed is finally done.

All three of them immediately bursting into applause and cheering, Nick and Troy join Madison at the far side of the room, to be able to get a better look at the picture from the distance.

“Wow…” Troy murmurs. “It’s… uhm… it’s…” He looks at Madison for help, but she just shrugs. “It’s really… leveled out,” he finishes eventually, the only positive aspect that he could think of from the top of his head.

Chuckling, Madison pats her son’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Nick. You’ve successfully uglified your place.”

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of it all you want. I like it.” Nick gives them a confident shrug. “And I know I couldn’t have done it without you, so thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Madison replies, giving him a good-natured smile.

A few moments later, she starts picking up some of the scattered tools like the pencil or the bubble scale. And that’s when, from the corner of her eyes, she spots Nick quietly moving towards Troy.

“And especially you,” Nick whispers softly to him, bumping their shoulders together. “Thank you very much for helping me.”

“You know you’re always welcome, right?” Troy whispers back, and even though they think she’s busy with the tools, she notices Troy affectionately interlacing their fingers, thumb softly brushing over the back of Nick’s hand.

Thinking about it for a moment, she eventually shakes her head and smiles, staring at the hammer for a few more blinks until dropping it in the toolbox.

“So,” she says, turning around. “Lunch, anyone?”


	4. Cloudburst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, everyone, so the time has come! Nick and Troy finally have their big moment!  
> Thanks to everyone who's commented enjoyed the story so far! Your kind words are always the best reward anyone could wish for :)  
> Enjoy the new chapter!

I had no idea what a real cloudburst was until it started raining. The sky had been a dark gray all day, but at least until noon the weather had kept up.

After lunch, however, just as Troy and I had started patrolling along the fences, the first raindrops hit the ground.

With a displeased growl, I immediately pull the hood of my jacket over my head, but that only helps temporarily. Within a few seconds, the rain starts pouring down on us as if someone had turned on a giant shower.

“Holy shit,” Troy curses, already soaked, and usually we’re not ones to abandon our posts, but this is just crazy! The world around us has turned into a misty gray in the blink of an eye, rain pouring down in long, shimmering threads like there was no tomorrow.

We’re quite far outside the ranch, so the closest fallback position for us would be the cottage, and we’re not wasting any time to get there for shelter. With the intensity of the rain increasing every second, we’re sprinting across the fields and down the hills as fast as possible, the footprints our boots leave on the mushy ground immediately filling with water – but no matter how fast we go, we’re already soaked to the bones. So eventually we slow down our pace, instead laughing in despair at the absurdity of this moment.

“Hurry, hurry,” Troy yanks open the door and pushes me inside, and with a weird mixture of pants and crazy laughter we barge in, kicking the door shot behind us.

Full of disbelief, I burst into a new round of laughter as soon as we’re finally safe, running my hands through my soaking wet hair to brush it back, as Troy takes a look through the window, wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” he murmurs, staring outside both shocked and fascinated at the same time. “Oh, sorry,” he then says, noticing the puddle that’s started to form around his boots. “I’m dripping on your floor.”

“Don’t worry about it. I am, too.” Sighing, as my heartbeat eventually normalizes. “It’s gonna be the baptism of fire for my roof anyway. We’ll see if Jake and I managed to locate all the leaky spots back then. If not, a few puddles on the floor will be the least of my problems.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Troy replies, now also brushing back his hair with his fingers. I notice there’s still water dripping from his nose and lashes. “With a gifted handyman like you…”

I chuckle fondly as I take a pair of fresh towels from the trunk. Turning around, I find Troy crouching next to the door to untie his boots. Reaching him with just a few steps, I drop one of the towels on his head and since it’s just such an irresistible opportunity with him down like that, I reach for him, rubbing his hair dry with the towel.

“Hey!” He eventually fights back, tries to catch the towel to stop me, so I let him be with a merry snicker.

Drying my own hair with the second towel, I stroll back to the window, noticing with wonder the rain has intensified even more. The world around us looks dense as if it’s been covered by a thick layer of mist, even though it’s just the rain. “Gosh, this is crazy,” I comment, eventually having to raise my voice a little to be heard over the rain – since the cottage doesn’t have a second floor, the pelting on the roof right above our heads has become an ear-deafening drumming.

Flicking the towel over my shoulder, I turn around, nearly bumping into Troy, who’s joined me at the window – without his shirt, I should add, and it certainly didn’t take me long to spot that little detail…

“Oh, là là!” I mutter in surprise, catching myself staring at his bare chest.

Troy eyes me closely with a grin, obviously enjoying my reaction to this sudden lack of covering fabric. Sheepishly, he shrugs. “They say you should take off wet clothes right away, otherwise you’ll catch a cold,” he informs me, keeping a straight face, then finally cracking a boyish grin after all.

I tsk at him with mock-reproach, then give him a defiant look. “Well, I don’t wanna catch a cold either,” I tell him as I grab my shirt to pull it over my head as well, however utterly failing, cause – well, have you ever tried taking off soaked clothes? That shit sticks to your body like chewing gum. So struggling with my rebellious piece of clothing for a while, I end up so tangled up in my own shirt, Troy has to lend me a hand.

“Arms up,” he instructs. I do as he says and not even a second later he pulls the shirt over my head.

“Thanks,” I whisper, totally embarrassed. “Alright, so that was definitely the unsexiest way of anyone ever taking their shirt off…”

He laughs out good-naturedly, then gives me a fond smile. “You make unsexy sexy.”

“Aw,” I growl, giving him another look of mock-reproach, then however I wrap my towel around his neck and pull him with me as I lean back against the wall.

He takes the cue immediately, catching my lips in a kiss right away, and I shiver as his hands teasingly trail up my side.

Returning the kiss fervently, I chuckle, eventually dropping the towel to the floor to let my hands run through his damp hair, noticing the stark contrast between the coldness of the moisture there and the warmth of his skin against my body.

I catch myself holding my breath as he suddenly lets his lips trail down my neck softly, his stubbles prickling on these sensitive parts of my skin, a thrilling sensation. Leaning my head back against the wall, I wrap my arms around his head, intending on never letting go of him again, on keeping him right there, with his lips against my neck.

“Troy…” I hiss, even though I’m not sure he heard me over the rain. Against my will, an overwhelming craving starts creeping up inside of me.

It’s been over two months now, ever since we got together, ever since we shared our first real kiss the night of the festival, high up there on the watchtower. We’ve been waiting that long. I wanted us to wait that long. After our disastrous first night together, I was determined to give him all the time he needed, considering how long it took him to gain enough trust to even just be able to return a simple kiss. I wanted to let the love and trust between us grow and flourish, to make sure he wouldn’t end up freezing again in the heat of the moment, and our second time would be one hell of a memorable, beautiful, amazing night.

I have to admit, it wasn’t easy, especially not with a boyfriend as hot as him. More than once I sat with the rest of the militia in the briefing room, listening to Troy’s instructions on the next mission, watching him – the tall, slender body, the uniform, the handsome face, the messy hair – secretly licking my lips. And more than once I caught him staring at me as well, that same kind of longing on his face.

There was no special time I made us wait for. And yet, I always pictured it would eventually be on the horizon for some time before it actually happens – so in hindsight that wasn’t the case, but right here, right now, I know the time has come.

“You know what,” I purr eventually, hooking my fingers under his waistband. “If they say you should take off your wet clothes to not catch a cold, consistently that would include our pants as well, wouldn’t it…” I put it this vaguely on purpose, to give him an easy way out if he’d rather decline after all.

Apparently, however, he feels ready as well. His breath tickles warm against my skin as he gives me a shy chuckle. “I guess so.” Looking up, he meets my eyes with an expression that’s happy and also a little bit bashful at the same time. “I guess we should – for health reasons, you know.”

A mixture of relief and excitement surges over me. I chuckle, my hands blindly finding the button of his pants. “Yeah, for health reasons,” I confirm, observing every little detail of the look in his eyes as I open it, the affection, the anticipation, the nervousness.

I lean in to him, give him a tender kiss to reward him and calm him at the same time. “Relax,” I whisper against his lips. “This is not a dentist appointment.”

That gets him to chuckle, his tension indeed subsiding a little.

“Remember, I love you,” I remind him.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a bit breathless, then he lets his hand trail to the back of my neck. He kisses me again and I feel him smile. “So we’re really gonna do this, huh?” he whispers over the pelting of the rain.

“Yeah, I guess we are…” I confirm, returning his smile.

He gives me another chuckle and suddenly, we’re both laughing quietly.

I wrap my arms around him, pulling him with me, and, both of us overflowing with excitement and joy, we let ourselves fall on the bed, while outside the heavens open.

 

It does feel like a first time. Even though I’ve objectively seen every part of him before, this time everything feels different. This time I’m actually filled with an all-consuming euphoria as I explore his body, caressing, kissing, memorizing every inch of it. With every whisper, every touch and every kiss he gives me in return I find myself falling in love with him deeper and deeper.

For a second, an image of the very first time he and I met flashes through my mind. The wicked glistening in his eyes as he looked down at me. _I’m not a savage._ The mad laughter on a moon-lit night. _I think we can be friends now._ The heart-breaking whimper when he crouched down in front of his dead father. The gentle touch of his hands running through my hair when I was about to break worrying about my family. His lips unexpectedly moving against mine. Hell, we’ve sure come a long way. And yet. Every single moment, every single word exchanged has been one key link of a chain, a chain leading right us here, to this very moment.

Locked in a tight embrace, I close my eyes and let my head fall back to just enjoy the sensation of him sucking gently on my neck, hands running through my hair, until I feel his lips back on mine, and I return the kiss fervently. I love him so much. I want him to be mine.

Even though I hadn’t expected this to happen so soon after all, luckily ever since our last raid at an abandoned drug store I’m significantly better equipped for this than last time.

So when we’re finally one, I wrap my arms around his chest and softly pull him back on my lap, the smooth skin of his back burning against my chest.

He seems shaken at first, having trouble breathing, but I let my lips trail along the side of his neck until he relaxes a little. “Nick…” he whispers, face flushed and voice shaky, and I reply with a savoring kiss on his shoulder.

Eventually he gets used to the sensation and crosses his arms over mine, holding on to my firm embrace to steady himself, and to my complete and utter surprise I actually catch him grin between the pants.

Unexpectedly, this spurs some kind of new confidence inside me as well. I lean in to him. “That feel good?” I ask, barely being able to catch my own breath enough just to get those three words out.

He mutters something in return, but his words are drowned out by the relentless pelting of the rain. Judging by the tone of his voice at least it didn’t seem like a negative reply.

“I love you, Troy,” I pledge with a puff, “I love you so much.”

Even though my lips brush over his ear as I mutter this, I’m not sure whether at least _he_ was able to hear me over the rain.

Then suddenly however he turns his head slightly, leaning back against me, bringing his face close to mine. “I love you,” he hisses, and this time his reply reaches me clearly and distinctly.

I end up half kissing, half biting his jaw, then bury my face in his cheek, losing myself in the sound of our breathing, returning the smile I still feel lingering right there blissfully on his lips.

“Troy…”

Eventually I feel his fingers dig into my thigh, and at the moment of highest joy, I can hardly believe my luck: We’re as close as we can be, faces touching, minds synchronized. Experiencing all of this together, taking in every sensation the other one’s feeling, inseparably tangled, united, one.

It’s better than everything I’d hoped for.

 

He falls on his back afterwards, breathing hard, while the rain’s deafening pelting on the roof continues unfazed.

Heartbeat still racing, I wrap my arms around him to hold him close and snuggle against his side, a huge grin spreading over my face. I want to say something, but my voice is drowned out by the relentless pattering of the rain, and since yelling doesn’t really fit the mood for pillow talk, I change my mind and just lie there in silence, enjoying the afterglow with his warmth by my side.

“That was…” Only once he speaks some time later and I’m able to hear his voice in a normal volume over the rain, I realize the rain has finally subsided at least a little. He looks at me and his eyes shine with bliss and affection. “That was totally different from last time.”

“Yeah, well, _duh_ ,” I reply, fondly rolling my eyes. “We love each other now. Instead of…”

He looks at me, curiously. “Instead of what?”

I shrug. “Instead of… maybe not yet.”

That gets him to chuckle, and I run my fingertips along his arm until I reach his hand, interlacing our fingers, then I pull his hand towards me to kiss it.

“You know what,” I murmur eventually, “let’s just scratch that night back then altogether. Let’s make this our official first time.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agrees with a grin, leaning over to give me a long, savoring kiss.

When he lies back down, I let my head rest against the warm, smooth skin of his shoulder, and for a long time we just lie there like this, listening to the aggressive rain, waiting for it to finally die down completely.

“What?” he asks me eventually.

“Hm?” I look at him.

“You were chuckling,” he points out.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking,” I murmur quietly. “I mean, just a bit over a year ago I was… living at home with my family, struggling to figure out what to do with my life. And now I’m lying here on a bed in a cottage I rebuilt on a secluded ranch hundreds of miles away from home, a place I didn’t even knew existed, and all I can think of is a boy I normally wouldn’t have ever met, not in a billion years, not even by chance.”

“Hmm…” he hums and I feel him burying his face in my hair, kissing my head.

“I mean, it’s just so unlikely…” I go on. “It’s like… if there was a God or Fate or some other force, it’s like they just couldn’t come up with any plausible way to get us together and so in the end they just shrugged and said, ‘Oh screw this, let’s just make it a zombie apocalypse!’”

He ends up chuckling softly against my hair, and I smile as well, wrapping my arms around him even tighter.

“I don’t care if it’s plausible or not,” I hear him whisper, voice once again nearly drowned out by the rain. “We did meet, and that’s all that matters. I’m at peace with the world, as long as you’re here with me.”

 

Eventually, the rain subsides some more, the constant noise around us finally softening.

“Do you hear that?” Troy asks after a few moments.

“Still just the rain,” I reply, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“It sounds like engines…” he insists, suddenly starting to shift beside me.

“No,” I complain immediately as he breaks free from my embrace, gets out of bed and walks over to the window.

The coldness without his body close feels unbearable. “Come back to me, Troy,” I plead.

He however stares outside, wide-eyed. “Holy _shit_!”

“What?” I growl, suspecting a trick to get me out of bed as well.

“The whole ranch is flooded!” he gasps. “Everyone is helping down there. There’s Jake and Coop and the others hoisting sandbags, and your sister’s waist-deep in the water with a bucket.”

He says this with such sincerity that I’m starting to doubt he’s making this up. With a frown on my face, I scoot to the edge of the bed as well, joining him at the windows to take a look outside myself.

“Holy _shit_!” I hiss as well, realizing the extent of all the hassle down there. “The water is reaching the trailers.” Pressing my hand on my mouth helplessly. “Jesus Christ, what do we do?”

Troy’s already back in his pants. “Help, as always,” he suggests and of course he’s right. That’s what we do. Tossing me a bunch of clothes, he nods at me. “Come on!”

Hastily, we get dressed, then – just as I’m about to pass him to reach the door – he catches me by my waist and holds me close. “Besides,” he whispers, looking at me coyly. “There’s another advantage to getting soaked once more.”

I give him a look of mock-reproach, then I can’t help smirking. “Oh, the lengths we go to for our health…”


	5. Totally not a Christmas Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually I've already been working on the next regular chapter, when all of a sudden the spirit of Christmas got the better of me and I came up with this little idea of how their first Christmas at the ranch could be like.  
> So, just in time for actual Christmas, here's we go with an unplanned little Christmas gift.  
> Hope you'll enjoy it!

**The Grand Cause – Christmas Chapter**

 

“Maybe next year,” Madison had suggested when Alicia asked her about celebrating Christmas together. Then she’d dropped her eyes and shrugged, avoiding her daughter’s puzzled look.

“I thought you were looking forward to it!” Alicia reminded her, confused.

“I was, but then again,” Madison replied, “the world has basically _ended_ this year. We’ve lost so much. Our home, our lives... Travis... I just don’t feel like celebrating Christmas.”

Eyeing her mother for a few moments, Alicia pursed her lips compassionately. “I get it, Mom, I do,” she assured her, “But isn’t that exactly the reason why we _should_ celebrate Christmas the same as any year? We’re safe and we’re together, and if Travis was here, I’m sure he’d agree.”

Madison seemed to think about it for a while, then ended up giving her an encouraging smile, patting her arm. “It just feels weird in a way... But I promise you I’ll be fine nevertheless. There’s a lot of work to do, as always, so I certainly won’t be sitting around on my own on Christmas, moping.” Cracking a wry grin. “You go and have a beautiful Christmas with Jake. And next year, I promise you, we’ll all celebrate together.”

 

And turns out she’d been more than right when she predicted she’d have a full schedule on Christmas. There were plenty of patrol shifts to fill since the militia as well as anyone else wanted to spend as much time as possible with their loved ones during the holidays. In addition, she’d agreed to help preparing the Christmas dinner at the canteen – to mark the occasion, they were serving a dish a bit more fancy than usual for anyone who preferred having dinner with the community, an offer accepted by quite a lot of families, especially the ones whose trailers had been damaged during that crazy cloudburst two weeks ago and were therefore temporarily living at a makeshift shelter, not having a kitchen of their own available.

And on top of all that, Madison had also agreed on dropping by at Troy’s at five. They’d been discussing expanding the cultivation area for crops for a while now, but so far had been unsure about the soil quality outside the current spaces. So when Troy had told her about a few maps he’d found in Jeremiah’s desk that included hints on the ground conditions, she’d immediately been keen on taking a look at them.

So, bored and lonely is the last thing Madison Clark is on Christmas Eve, as she takes her leave from the canteen kitchen at quarter to five and hurries across the ranch towards the Ottos’ house.

Knocking, it strangely takes a while until she hears footsteps – but eventually there’s Troy’s silhouette appearing behind the milky glass of the door.

“Hey Madison,” he greets her, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Troy,” she replies, immediately frowning however at the slightly rattled condition the young man seems to be in. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” he assures her casually. “You’re just a bit early. It’s not five yet.”

“Well,” she shrugs, “I wasn’t aware the map had been drawn up with magic ink that can only be read after five?”

He grins a bit reluctantly at that, but otherwise doesn’t react to it any other way. Quite the contrary actually: Instead of inviting her in, he suddenly squeezes through the tiny crack of the door, careful not to open it any wider, and joins her outside.

Frown deepening, Madison shoots him an inquiring look. “Uhm… Aren’t the maps inside?”

“They are,” Troy nods immediately, “but I just thought I’d... I’d show you the areas I’ve been talking about from up here.” Beckoning her to follow him to the porch rail, he points across the ranch. “See that area over there, behind the infirmary?” He gets on his toes as he says this, then however ducks again, peeking left and right in an attempt to catch a view of the area he was talking about.

“Actually no,” Madison tells him bluntly. “It can’t be seen from up here since the infirmary’s blocking the view.”

“Huh, yeah, well, anyway...” he goes on, pointing at other seemingly random spots around the valley. “But maybe we could also grow crops over there, or over there...”

Madison has stopped following his finger for a while now, instead keeps her eyes locked on his face. “Why don’t we just take a look at the maps?” she suggests in an amicable voice.

“Ah, yeah, well...” he stammers, when right at that moment there’s a loud knock against the window pane right next to them.

Wincing, they both turn around, but all Madison manages to catch is a glimpse of a red shadow ducking out of their sight.

“What was _that_?” she asks immediately. “Was that just someone knocking at the window?”

He gives her another reluctant smile, then cracks a goofy grin. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m holding someone prisoner in my basement, and this was just them trying to escape?”

She holds his eyes for a moment. “Actually, I would,” she tells him bluntly, then raises her eyebrows, “ _If that someone hadn’t been wearing a Santa hat and looked suspiciously like Nick!_ ”

He laughs out a bit embarrassedly, as if she’d caught him on something.

“Look, Troy,” she says, voice suddenly all serious and understanding. “There’s no need to hide the fact that Nick’s with you, if that’s what you’re trying to do here. It’s Christmas and you’re a couple. I get that. I was expecting for you to spend the evening together – in fact, I’d have been worried if you didn’t. So why don’t we just go inside, take a quick look at the maps, and I promise I won’t bother you any longer. You can go back to celebrating Christmas with Nick.”

“I’m not celebrating Christmas with Nick...” Troy objects after a few seconds, still not showing the slightest inclination to take her inside.

“But wasn’t he wearing a Santa hat just now?” she pushes.

“I have no idea...” Troy goes on, looking away sheepishly.

“So where’s the problem with letting me in?” Madison’s frown intensifies. “Unless... Geez, please tell me the Santa hat’s not the _only_ thing he’s wearing...”

“What?! _No_!!” Troy assures her hastily, blushing a little – probably not hard enough though to indicate this was actually true.

“Then why-“ she starts one final attempt, when all of a sudden the silence’s interrupted once more by a knock against the window.

“Sheesh, about time!” Immediately, Troy regains his composure and the nervousness is gone in the blink of an eye. “You wanna know why? Because I’ve been _stalling_ , and desperately waiting for that bloody second knock, Jesus Christ,” he growls darkly, then grabs the door handle and finally opens. He shoots her a look over his shoulder, beckoning her to follow him. “Come on.”

Madison stares after him, absolutely confused, trying to figure out what’s going on. Then, warily, she follows him inside.

Troy closes the door behind her, but instead of leading her to the study, he suddenly turns around wordlessly and dashes off towards the living room.

“Uhm, Troy?” she calls after him, but there’s no reply.

Puzzled, she takes a few steps into the direction he vanished in, slowly peeking around the corner.

Then, eyes widening in surprise, she startles.

There’s a huge decorated Christmas tree towering in the middle of the living room, sparkling with dozens of golden fairy lights – and next to it, arm in arm, are Alicia, Jake, Troy and Nick – the latter indeed wearing that silly Santa hat she’d spotted –  and they’re all smiling and grinning at her wide.

In unison, they chant, “ME-RRY-CHRIST-MAS!!”

 

***

 

“Alright, Mom, before you freak out,” I quickly start, taking a step towards her. “This is _totally not_ a Christmas party, okay? We’re just having dinner together, that’s all. I mean, everyone’s gotta eat, even on Christmas, right?” Shooting her an apologetic smile. “And there just _happens_ to be a Christmas tree in the room and a turkey in the oven. Mere coincidence.”

“Fancy that,” Mom replies sarcastically, but the look in her eyes makes it obvious that – although hesitant – she’s more amused by the trouble we went through than displeased by this arbitrary act.

I shrug innocently. “Alicia said, you didn’t want to celebrate Christmas this year after everything that’s happened – and that’s totally understandable. We respect that – sort of, at least.”

“We talked about it, Nick and me,” Alicia chimes in, now also stepping forward, “and in our opinion, _especially_ because of all those horrible things that have happened, we really think we should celebrate this Christmas together,” shooting me a look, “and enjoy the time we get to spend with each other.”

Mom looks at us for a long time, then eventually she purses her lips and smiles. “You’re right,” she whispers eventually, and takes both of us in her arms. “You’re right.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” we both whisper in relief, hugging her back.

Eventually, she breaks away and turns to Troy and Jake, who have been standing next to the Christmas tree watching our family moment in silence, and – since they might as well be family in a way by now – she also hugs them, exchanging Christmas wishes.

The delicious smell of the turkey in the oven is slowly but surely starting to fill the air. Naturally, this doesn’t slip our mother’s attention either.

“But don’t tell me you actually went through all the trouble to prepare a turkey,” she eventually says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Alicia did,” I point out quickly, making sure my sister gets the credit she deserves. After all, she’s been spending most of her day in the kitchen, putting so much effort into making sure we would have a Christmas dinner that at least comes close to what our mom usually prepares for us on the holidays.

“It was my first try,” Alicia points out, shaking her head. “I probably made a lot of mistakes.”

“Judging by how delicious this smells, I’m sure you did great,” Mom replies, giving her daughter a proud look, eventually followed by a more reproachful one. “I know how much work this is, though. You could have _said_ something, honey. I would have helped.”

“Well, I did have help,” Alicia counters, pointing at the rest of us. “Jake took care of the dessert, and he _really_ did an awesome job.”

“It was also more of a test,” Jake adds quickly, in order to lower our expectations. “I definitely used too much cinnamon.”

“Come on, it’s delicious,” Alicia insists, turning to him. “And you’ve decorated it like a starred chef.”

“It pales in comparison to the turkey, I assure you,” he insists.

“Yeah, yeah,” I can’t help chipping in, inwardly rolling my eyes. “You both did an awesome job, as always. Can we just settle for that?” And off-handedly, I whisper to Troy, “Overachievers!”

“I heard that,” Alicia growls.

Hastily changing the subject, I point at the Christmas tree. “So, Mom, what do you think of this impressive and exceptionally majestic Christmas tree? Troy and I spent several days out scouting for one. But in the end we came across this amazing specimen.”

“And we also decorated it,” Troy adds, pointing at the ornaments. “And I dare to say,” he adds, raising his eyebrows in my direction, “we also did an excellent job.”

I nod confidently. And not without irony I add, “You especially decorated the tree in such perfect symmetric patterns, it’s stunning!”

“Oh, my patterns pale in comparison to your impressive color combinations...” Troy takes my cue immediately and joins in on this, until Jake rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, we all got the dig...”

Mom just ends up chuckling good-naturedly. “So, since apparently you’ve all worked so hard to prepare a Christmas party, shouldn’t we get started _totally not_ having one?”

 

With night falling outside, the shimmering lights of the Christmas tree bathe the room in a beautiful golden glow. We’ve also decorated the table with little stars and snowflakes and branches of mistletoe, and everything feels really festive and cozy with the CD player providing the perfect background music in the form of everyone’s favorite Christmas songs.

Mom insists on helping Alicia at least with the final preparations for our dinner – and once again she’s impressed and so proud of how well Alicia’s done on her very first turkey try. So at about six, we’re all gathered around the table, as our mom and Alicia jointly serve the delicious smelling food.

For a moment, there seems to be some minor confusion about who should get the honor of slicing it, Jake and Mom reaching simultaneously for the huge knife.

“Oh, I’m sorry, please go ahead, Madison,” Jake says immediately, sitting back down.

“No, please, it’s your home, we’re the guests,” she insists. “You should do it, Jake.”

Jake hesitates at first, then smiles a bit bashfully, taking the knife in his hands. He’s just about to get to work, when suddenly he stops once more. Unexpectedly, his eyes meet mine. “Or maybe _you_ wanna do it?”

“Me?” I repeat, surprised. And with a wave of my hand, I lean back on my chair. “Oh, no worries. I don’t have any ambitions, Jake, really. Just go ahead.”

“Well, it’s both our families’ Christmas party in a way,” Jake muses – “ _Totally not_ a Christmas party!” Mom reminds him with a smirk.

“ _Totally not_ a Christmas party,” Jake corrects himself with a grin, then his eyes are back on me. “So why don’t we just do it together? Oldest Otto son, oldest Clark son?”

He shoots me his most winsome smile, and without wanting to I give in. “Well, if you’re so keen on butchering that bird with me, fine!” Getting up and joining him on the other side of the table.

In the end, everyone’s helping in a way – as even though Madison, Alicia and Troy don’t play an active role in this, neither one of them is holding back with smart-aleck advice and know-all suggestions, so quickly the room is filled with babbling voices, the cozy clattering of cutlery and dishes, and merry laughter – and the magic of Christmas works its way into our hearts.

 

So once the festive Christmas dinner is over – following the ancient Clark tradition – it’s board game time. For that purpose, Alicia has brought “Clue”, one of the several games she managed to grab during one of our supply runs a few weeks ago. Originally intended for the kids at the ranch, tonight however serving as entertainment at the _Otto/Clark totally not a Christmas party_.

Starting right off choosing characters, Mom goes for her usual Mrs. Peacock, while Alicia sticks with Miss Scarlet, even though she almost a little guiltily comments on this being a clichéd choice. Jake goes for Colonel Mustard and – being left to pick between Reverend Green and Professor Plum –  I quickly grab the Professor and push him towards Troy (“That’s so you!”), while taking the Reverend for myself.

Since Troy doesn’t know the game at all and Jake points out it’s been ages, neither one of the Otto brothers is particularly successful during the first round.

Eventually, though, the way the game works becomes clear, and everyone’s keen on resetting the board for a second round to play it properly.

With everyone concentrated now, silence has settled over the living room, and the only noise being heard is the Christmas songs playing quietly in the background.

It’s the first time I’ve actually played a game with Troy and it surprises me to see how quickly he engages in the challenge and takes the game all seriously. In my experience, there are two types of Clue players: The ones visiting whatever room they happen to pass by, making random suggestions and taking notes of the cards they’re shown (these are also usually the ones losing). Then there are the ones demanding extra sheets of paper to document their observations and take notes all the time, even when it’s not even their turn.

It’s funny, because while usually I perceive more similarities between Troy and me than differences, when it comes to playing Clue we’re definitely in different categories.

“Anyone need an additional sheet of paper?” Mom asks eventually, getting up from her chair, and Alicia’s obligatory “Me!” is immediately followed by Troy’s “Me too!”. I can’t help rolling my eyes. _Overachievers!_

“I don’t,” I state on purpose. Reverend Green is a very easygoing man. And I never understood that hassle anyway.

Receiving a new piece of paper from Mom, Troy puts the old one aside, and for a moment I spot it’s covered in notes.

“What on _Earth_ are you writing down all the time?!” I hiss at him immediately, trying to catch a glimpse at his sheet, but Troy immediately covers it with his hands to shield his observations from my curious eyes.

Jake just snorts at that. “Knowing my brother, he probably writes down every glance someone shoots at someone, whenever a card is called.”

“I’m not!” Troy defends immediately, but sounding like a pouting little kid. “And besides, mind your own business. I don’t see you writing down much.”

“I got it all in my brain!” Jake states boisterously, and I just snort in disbelief.

It’s obvious Jake at least fits into my Clue category – what a relief!

Or so I thought.

Because when suddenly we reach the moment at which everyone magically seems to have the solution and the big race towards the murder room starts – in this case the billiard room –, to my endless surprise (and also disappointment…) Jake is amongst the leaders.

Luckily, Reverend Green has been lurking around the billiard room the whole time, so I decide to give it a shot, even though I’m not sure about the murder weapon yet.

After all, this is my usual strategy, and – to everyone else’s dismay – it has already brought me the victory more than once: Head to the room everyone is suddenly racing towards at the end of the game and take a wild guess at the solution.

Torn between the candlestick and the wrench – a fifty-fifty chance –, I eventually go for the wrench – which unfortunately turns out to be the wrong choice. Well, never mind. It was worth giving it a shot!

Troy manages to reach the room second, and even though he got the candlestick right, to everyone’s surprise, he accuses Miss Scarlet instead of Mrs. White (even I had that one!), which is just proof that taking too many notes just increases the risk of getting tangled up in your own deductions and isn’t the best way to win this game either.

For the sake of completeness, in the end, as expected, it’s Alicia who gives the correct solution – Mrs. White with the candlestick in the billiard room – and Mom and Jake are quick to announce this was also the conclusion they’d come to, while Troy and I point out with a frown there wasn’t much to it anymore since we’d basically handed them the solution on a silver plate.

So immediately the room is filled again with voices as everyone explains their suspicions, passes around their notes and jokes about funny moments.

During all the laughing and hassle, I eventually catch a glimpse of Mom, who’s suddenly fallen all silent for a moment and is staring past us at the Christmas tree with a melancholic, absentminded look on her face.

I give her a few moments, then decide to call her. “Mom?”

She blinks and looks at me.

“Everything alright?” I ask, shooting her a concerned look.

She however just returns my glance, then there’s a smile softening her face. And it’s a genuine one. “Everything alright,” she nods.

 

It’s already half past eleven when Jake’s cinnamon plum tartlets are served – which are almost “too pretty to be eaten”, as Alicia comments once more (causing Troy and me to immediately go for another round of praising each other for the Christmas tree decoration as well, naturally!). He did put a lot of effort into decorating them neatly, I have to admit, and indeed they’re very delicious, so they make for a perfect finale on a perfect Christmas Eve.

Eventually, the guests decide to slowly but surely head home, but not without offering to help doing the dishes first.

“That’s really not necessary,” Troy assures them. “We didn’t use that many plates tonight, so it won’t be that much work cleaning everything up.”

“Besides, there’s two of us, so we’ll be done in no time anyway,” I agree with a nod, suddenly feeling a strange kind of warmth inside my heart, realizing how domestic this moment feels: Everyone’s naturally assuming I’m staying, and seeing them off at the door like this makes me feel like I was actually living here with my boyfriend, like _his_ guests had been _our_ guests, like _his_ home was _ours_.

He must see it in my eyes as he closes the door behind them and turns to me.

“We’re not actually doing the dishes right now, are we?” he asks with a smile.

I chuckle happily and take his hand. “I think that can wait till tomorrow.”

 

***

 

Compared to all the conversations and laughter from before, there’s eventually a more quiet Christmas spirit settling over us as we lie there in each other’s arms in the silence of Troy’s room, his back leaning against the headboard, my head resting on his chest, his fingers tenderly stroking along my back, over and over again, a pleasant trance.

In silence, my eyes rest on the tiny Christmas tree on the window sill, watching its colorful fairy lights twinkle softly in the darkness of the room. We’ve come across it on our quest to find an appropriate Christmas tree, and somehow it’s also tagged along and made its way back to the ranch with us. I’m glad about it. It’s nice to have some decorations here as well, to remind us it’s actually, truly Christmas.

Exhausted and tired from the pleasant time we spent earlier with our families, there’s also some kind of profound blissfulness spreading inside me: Thinking back to the warmth we all felt with the people we love surrounding us, I know from the bottom of my heart that it was the right decision to stage this Christmas party, have everyone over. So no matter the devastating year we had, thanks to this evening, at least tonight we’ll all fall asleep with a smile on our faces.

“I thought that was a really fun night,” I point out eventually, my voice soft and quiet.

“It was,” Troy replies, fingers stopping for a moment. “Everyone had a great time.”

“So you enjoyed it, too?” I ask, especially relieved to hear that.

“Of course,” he confirms quickly. “I’ve never had a Christmas like that before, to be honest. In our family, it was always… difficult.”

I stay quiet for a while, and automatically he continues.

“We’d start out with the best of intentions every year, but in the end, the result was always the same,” he says, with melancholy in his voice. “Sooner or later, Jake and Dad would get into a fight and it always ended with Jake storming off and heading home. Dad would get drunk and I would go to bed early.” Snorting. “Come to think of it, I’ve never really seen Jake laugh on a Christmas Eve after 10 p.m.” He shrugs. “But tonight, with Alicia and everyone around, it seemed like he just couldn’t stop.”

“He sure couldn’t,” I confirm with a fond chuckle. “But don’t get the wrong impression.” I shift a little to get more comfortable against him. He takes up stroking my back again. “Remember when I told you the apocalypse changed the dynamics in our family? I can’t recall us ever having a harmonious Christmas like that in the Old World either.”

“Really?” He seems surprised.

“Really.” I nod against his shirt. “When our dad was still alive, we acted like we had fun at Christmas, but it was just pretense. Our father would force himself to act carefree and happy for this occasion, and even though that was always something special, we knew it wasn’t going to last and he would go back to his absent-mindedness and silence right the day after.” With a sigh, I shrug. “And when it was just the three of us, it would usually be _me_ , the one ruining the night for everyone else, one way or another. So yeah…” I turn my head to shoot him a quick glance. “Maybe in the end tonight really was the Christmas everyone had always wished for. And apparently it took an apocalypse for us to make it real. Maybe with all the shit that’s happened, we eventually realized we’re living on borrowed time and it’s by no means certain will ever get the chance to spend another Christmas like that ever again.” Giving him a smile regardless of my gloomy words. “So that makes the time we spend together so much more precious.”

Turning my eyes back on the Christmas tree, I whisper. “So no matter the imperfection – the hasty preparation, the makeshift ingredients, the fact that we didn’t get to spend it at _our_ _home_ –, it was the perfect Christmas. And you don’t even need gifts for that.”

”You’re right,” he agrees eventually, and suddenly I feel his lips against my head. “Even though objectively, I already got the best gift I could wish for way before Christmas.”

Propping myself on my elbow, I turn to look at him with a puzzled expression, but the smile on his face is all the proof I need to reassure me he meant what I thought he did.

“Say it,” I dare him.

His smile turns into a grin. “ _You_.”

I can’t help smirking, but it’s just a way of concealing how much he gets to me with heartfelt confessions like this. So I close my eyes and chuckle, then shoot him a smile as I open them again. “I assure you, Troy,” I start, gazing at him fondly, “Santa’s been generous with both of us.” And with that, I sit up, grab my Santa hat and affectionately put it on him with a fond look, before leaning in and catching his lips in a long, tender kiss.

He smiles at me, once we break away, and whispers, “You know what, thinking of it… Is it too late to come up with a Christmas list now?”

I take a peek at my watch, then shrug. “It’s worth giving it a shot.”

“Alright,” he nods, eyes still full of warmth and affection. “Actually, there’s only one wish I have…” He closes his eyes, leans in once more and kisses me tenderly, eventually whispering his wish against my lips.

At first I chuckle at it, then I open my eyes again and smile. “That’s indeed a very good wish,” I agree and wrap my arms around him. “Merry Christmas.”

He nuzzles against my neck with a chuckle. “Merry Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and Merry Christmas everyone!


	6. Battle for Ofelia (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! I hope you all had a great vacation.  
> As serveral people requested, we'll start the new year with a jealousy episode - and it turned out to be quite the long chapter, so I had to split it into two parts.  
> So here we go with the first part, have fun and enjoy! :)

So one week after Christmas, the disastrous year 2010, the year of the apocalypse, finally comes to an end, and 2011 starts out, harboring all our wishes for it to turn out a better one than the previous one. And having found a new home here at the ranch indeed gives us hope of having been granted the chance to start over after all – even though the world has ended.

So the months go by without any major occurrences, and it’s already Mid-March, when my mom, me and a bunch of other people are out on a mission with Coop – just to run into an unexpected guest upon our return to the ranch after four days out on the road.

“Walker,” Mom calls immediately, worry and reservation darkening her face.

I hold my breath. _Walker?!_ Blinking at the man in front of us. This is Walker? To me, it‘s the first time I‘ve actually seen him in person, and it feels like a specter from a ghost story has suddenly materialized out of thin air. The man who killed Travis. The man who demanded Jeremiah’s scalp. The man I’ve killed for.

He‘s so different from what I imagined. Long, wavy black hair, a dusty jeans jacket, a sympathetic face. And a look in his eyes that almost makes him look wise. Actually he‘s pretty far from the menacing foe I’ve always pictured him as.

“What are you doing here?” my mom wants to know with a wary expression. “What do you want?”

“It‘s okay, Madison,” Jake chips in immediately, popping up from the infirmary. “He‘s here in peace.”

“It‘s good to see you again, Madison,” Walker greets her with a nod, a soothing baritone. “I’ve come to request a favor from you and your people.”

“What kind of favor?” Mom wants to know, still not convinced there‘s no immediate danger ahead. “All debts have been paid.”

“There will be a new debt from today on,” Walker replies, as calmly as before. “And it will be one I owe to you.” He points at the infirmary, beckoning Mom to enter.

She shoots me a look, then steps inside, me following closely on her heels.

Inside the pavilion, there‘s another surprise waiting for us. There‘s our medic Pam and Jake standing next to one of the cots – and on that cot a familiar face. Skin all pale, breaths heavy and raspy: Ofelia.

“She‘s been like that for two days now,” Walker explains quietly as he enters behind us. “It must be some kind of allergic reaction. We‘ve tried everything at our disposal, but so far no treatment has worked. Since you have the larger supply of medicine, I turned to you for help, especially since Ofelia used to be one of yours.”

“You can count on our help, Taqa,” Jake assures him, surprising us all that they‘re on first name basis already. “We‘ll do whatever‘s in our power to help her. Even though I can‘t promise we‘ll have the necessary medicine available either.”

“Of course,” Walker agrees reasonably. “All I ask is for you to try.”

 

And try is what we do. As it turns out, we do have the required medicine, so a few days later, Ofelia‘s symptoms have significantly decreased, and soon she‘s almost back to old health. The remedies have only battled the symptoms of the allergic reaction however, not the cause, which still needs to be determined.

For that reason, Pam has recommended Ofelia to stay here with us at the ranch for a while longer, so she can test her for various stimuli to determine her allergies and make sure the next fit can be prevented.

For me, this is actually quite a relief. Having Ofelia around again – and this time without any animosity or us being on opposite sides of an impending war – I get the chance to rekindle my relationship with her, something I‘ve been wishing for for a very long time.

“I‘m glad to see you‘re better,” she tells me one day, as we‘re strolling across the fields together.

“Me?” I ask, looking at her with a frown. “You do realize _you‘re_ the one on health treatment here?”

“I meant the anthrax,” she points out, shooting me a guilty look. “I didn’t know you would drink from the poisoned water, too. It was just supposed to take out the militia.”

“Yeah, that would include me as well,” I tell her quickly, pointing at my fatigues.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I didn’t know. I never meant to harm you, Nick.”

Pursing my lips, I shrug. “I know. You were just fighting for your people. I get it. No hard feelings.”

She nods gratefully, then looks away again.

“I‘m glad there‘s peace between us now,” I go on truthfully after a while. “So we don‘t have to hurt each other any more.” Shooting her a look from the side. “We used to be family once, Ofelia. We must never forget about that.”

She touches my shoulder at that, encouragingly rubbing my arm as she gives me a smile. “We won‘t.”

I return the smile, and as she draws back I notice the small lines that have been drawn on her arm separating small areas, each one marked with a number.

“Pam’s work, I guess?” I ask quickly, raising an eyebrow at her.

Ofelia nods. “It’s to pinpoint the substances I’m allergic to. She’s applied a different one to each of the segments, so whatever areas of skin break out in a rash, that will tell the substances I’m allergic to.”

“Smart,” I nod, remembering a similar procedure from the doctor at our neighborhood when I was a kid.

“It will take a few days to show, though,” Ofelia goes on. “So you won’t get rid of me too soon.”

There’s a quick smile curving my lips. “You’d also be welcome to stay longer, if you wanted to, you know that, right?”

She shoots me a quick look, then purses her lips in an apologetic smile.

“That’s nice,” she starts, then shakes her head. “But Taqa and his people are my family now. They were the ones who saved me when no one else would.”

“There are good people at the ranch, too,” I point out, but it doesn’t seem to convince her.

“I’m sure it is a great place to live,” she agrees quickly, then however with a little bit more reluctance adds shrugging, “for people like you and your family at least. For people like me on the other hand...”

I’m just about to protest, when she shushes me with a gesture.

“You may not know, but Otto and I had history.”

That indeed renders me speechless.

She nods. “When I was lost in the desert, skin burnt and throat dry, Taqa wasn’t the first one to find me. Otto spotted my half-dead body hours before him. He came over to me, gave me water, but when I begged him to save me, to take me with him, he just laughed at me, telling me there was no place for people like me at his home.”

“Otto’s dead,” I remind her darkly. “Jake’s in charge now.”

“Jake’s a good person,” Ofelia agrees. “But I fear the younger son much rather shares his father’s views on things like that.”

“There are a lot of things Troy simply never had to deal with,” I reply, defending my boyfriend, “but he’s learning every day,” I assure her. “He would never do anything to harm you. I vouch for him.”

She looks at me with surprise, then smiles knowingly. “You’ve become friends with him, haven’t you?”

I shrug, trying to hide the fond smile threatening to curve my lips. “There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

She gazes at me for a little while longer, then I feel her hand on my arm again. “You’ve found your home with them, I found mine with Taqa.” And cracking a smile, she adds, “That means we’re basically neighbors, though!”

I return her look for a moment, then suddenly grin as well. “Definitely works for me!”

With that, we both start chuckling, before I can’t help it anymore and pull her into an embrace. It’s so good to have her back. Even if it’s not right here with us – as our neighbor, I know she’ll never be far away.

 

***

 

The next day, I grin as I stretch my arms and throw my head back, enjoying the bright sunshine warming my skin. “Ah, I could definitely get used to that!”

It’s an exceptionally beautiful day, the sky a cloudless blue, and at the same time a soft, gentle breeze making the usual Californian heat bearable.

“Bacon, lettuce and tomato, or cheese, lettuce and tomato?” Troy asks me, unwrapping the sandwiches we brought along.

We’ve been out on patrol all morning, killing dozens of walkers roaming the area, but now it’s finally time for our lunch break. And – as luck would have it – we were just passing by the lake, so this is where we’ve settled down: on the soft grass right here by the lakeside.

“Choose whatever you like,” I tell him easily, smiling softly as I’m eventually handed the BLT one. _He’s letting me have the one he prefers_ , I think to myself, but don’t mention it, because I know it would just embarrass him and he’d deny it. So instead, I shoot him a smile and accept with a happy “thanks”.

My gesture ends up having the desired effect: His eyes light up as he returns the smile, and God, the world’s such a perfect place.

Enjoying the weather and the peacefulness by the lake for a few minutes, we munch our sandwiches in silence.

“What a shame we only ever come here on patrol…” I murmur eventually, gazing over the gently swaying water glittering in the sunshine. “It would be so nice to spend more time out here like this … We could take a swim instead of patrolling all the time. Or maybe do some stand-up paddling!” Turning my head to him. “Have you ever tried that? We did it once on a friend’s birthday party. So much fun… But also gave me the muscle ache of my life!” I crumple up the sandwich wrapping.

“Never tried that,” he replies good-naturedly, “but I can imagine how strenuous it is.” Leaning back to prop himself on his elbows, he gazes into the sky. “When I was a kid, I tried to build my own raft with thick branches and logs. It even had a mast and a sail and everything, I was so proud of it. I wanted to sail on the lake like a pirate on the sea.”

“Wanted?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

There’s a quick smile curving his lips, then he shrugs. “Well, this is a _lake_ and not the ocean. The wind only managed to make me drift back and forth a little. I was so disappointed. I would have needed to paddle as well, but I quickly decided it wasn’t worth the effort.”

I can’t help smirking. “Poor little Troy.”

He returns my grin, then shrugs. “Well, it was pretty fun burning the logs instead, too.”

“That does sound more like you,” I laugh, lying back on the grass as well.

Yawning, I then take a look at my watch. “How long until we need to get back to work?”

“Twenty minutes,” he tells me, sitting up, then raises an eyebrow at me as I yawn once more. “That tired? Didn’t you sleep well?”

“Ah, I dunno,” I tell him with a shrug. “Could have been better, I guess.”

“Something on your mind?” he asks softly.

“Nah.” I on the other hand just give him a teasing smirk. “It was just your snoring that kept me awake for a while…”

Frowning immediately, he shoots me a displeased look. “I don’t snore.”

Laughing merrily, I point a tiny, tiny bit with my forefinger and thumb.

“So not true!” he insists, throwing his little ball of sandwich wrapping at me.

I dodge it effortlessly, snickering even harder. “It’s actually quite adorable,” I assure him, mimicking really deep slumber with really deep breaths – not without throwing in the occasional snore of course, just to tease him.

“Come _on_!” he calls eventually, a fond smile nevertheless curving his lips.

Still grinning, I shrug, then eventually grow serious again. “No, honestly, though. I may be a little worried for Ofelia,” I confess.

“Ofelia?” he shoots me a surprised look.

I nod. “Yeah, I mean she’s already doing a lot better than when Walker brought her here.” Sighing. “But still… What if the fits return before Pam has determined the cause?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he reassures me immediately. “Pam is excellent at her job.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s silly,” I reply eventually. “But maybe I’ll check on her later, even if it’s just to set my mind at ease.”

I feel his eyes on me while I say this, eyes suddenly strangely distant, before he hesitatingly takes a breath. Looking at me with a frown, he asks, “So what exactly is the deal between you and Ofelia?”

“ _Deal_?” I ask, looking back at him. “What do you mean? She’s like family.” Propping myself up on my elbows as I look up at the sky. “You know, when we had to run from L.A. during the outbreak, her family and ours stuck together. She ended up losing her parents in the process though, and later we also lost sight of each other. It’s such an incredible coincidence to actually be reunited with her here of all places.”

“Yeah, I know all that,” Troy counters to my surprise. “Madison told me the story. But what I actually meant was: What’s the deal between you and Ofelia? You seem close.”

“We‘re friends,” I point out. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That all? Nothing more?”

I frown. “What do you mean, _more_?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, shooting me a sheepish look. “She seems your type. Latina.”

Unable to hold back a laugh, I snort at him. “Oh, _right._ Latina. Like you, obviously.”

“Funny,” he counters, pursing his lips. Quickly, though, he grows serious again, insisting. “So really nothing going on between you and her?”

Taking a deep breath, I throw my head back once more. “You know, cards on the table: Now? No. Back then? I don’t know. Maybe there _was_ something between us, I have no idea. We’re alike in many ways. But nothing ever came out of it. And now, it’s long gone anyway.” Shooting him an encouraging look. “So no reason for you to worry, okay? She’s no threat to you in the slightest, I promise.”

He answers with a slightly unreadable smile.

“But she’s my friend,” I remind him, “and I want her to feel safe and comfortable here. So please… be nice to her, okay? That would mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah, of course, sure,” he agrees a bit defensively with a nonchalant shrug. “Your friends are my friends after all.”

Smiling at him. “Good.” I touch his arm fondly and hold his eyes for several moments, just lying there, gazing at him. And I know if we weren’t out here in the open, clearly visible to anyone on the watchtower, I’d kiss him.

But out here is where we are, so in the end, all I do is let myself drop back on the grass. “So how much time left?”

“Ten minutes,” he replies, and I shrug.

“Well, works for a little nap at least.”

“True words,” Troy agrees, lying back next to me.

I chuckle, smiling at him through the grass stalks.

He returns my look fondly, and at least for this moment, I know my mind and body are totally at peace. With a content sigh, I take a deep breath, then close my eyes to make the most out of ten minutes.                                                                                                                                                                

 

***

 

A few days later, Troy’s stepping outside the canteen pavilion with his lunch tray in his hands, when suddenly at one of the tables he spots Ofelia, eating her food in solitude.

_Be nice to her. That would mean a lot to me._

He still hears Nick‘s voice resounding in his head. And whether he likes it or not, he‘s determined to make Nick happy and proud. So without spending any additional thoughts on it, he comes over to her, sitting down at the table opposite her.

Ofelia – startled by the sudden and unexpected company – feels her eyes opening wide in surprise as she realizes who this person is that just joined her for lunch, her chewing actually slowing down for a moment as she gazes at him in disbelief.

“Hey,” he says, shooting her a friendly look. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Troy, Jake’s brother.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Ofelia replies warily. “You’ve killed four of our people when you attacked us to get Alicia. They were my friends.”

Troy doesn’t look at her, but fails to fight the defiant smile forming on his face nevertheless. “And you’re the one who poisoned my men, amongst them Jake and your friend Nick. They almost didn’t make it. Two of my men actually died. They were friends as well.”

At these words, Ofelia is the one to cast down her eyes. “I’m sorry about that,” she says eventually, and Troy can read in her face she’s genuine.

For a few blinks he stares at her. Then his gaze softens. “I’m sorry, too.” He picks up a few potato wedges with his fork. “I’m aware there’ve been losses on both sides. At some point you just have to let go of revenge and retributive justice if you want to give peace a chance.”

At that, Ofelia blinks at him, then eventually she nods. “You’re right,” she replies, knowing immediately he is referring to his father’s selfless sacrifice – a turn of events that has actually deeply surprised her and is probably the only thing that can be held in favor of Jeremiah Otto. “I’m relieved we managed to overcome our differences. I hope it’ll last.”

“Me too,” Troy replies quickly, then clears his throat as he continues to eat. “So about this allergy of yours... Already doing better?”

“The symptoms have been battled,” Ofelia points out with a shrug, “but Pam’s still unsure about the cause. She’s an incredible medic, by the way. You’re lucky to have her. We could also use someone as skilled as her.”

“Yeah,” Troy nods, appreciating. “Already patched me up a few times as well.” Then another thought crosses his mind. “She’s not for trade, though.”

At that, Ofelia looks at him in surprise. Then, unexpectedly, gives him a soft chuckle. “I sort of figured.”

 

I can hardly believe my eyes when I spot Troy and Ofelia sitting together at lunch, apparently even having quite the friendly conversation.

Impressed by how quickly Troy actually complied with my wish, I hurry to the canteen to get my own serving, then stroll over to their table to join them.

“Hey guys,” I interrupt their conversation, setting my tray down next to Troy’s. “How’s the steak?”

“Good,” they both reply quickly. Aside from that, however, they don’t take their conversation back up.

Taking a few bites of my own, I end up eyeing both of them closely.

It’s eventually Troy who turns to me. “Oh, hey, Nick, guess what,” he starts. “I just invited Ofelia to join us for training. That way, she can practice her fighting skills while she stays here at the ranch.” With that, he looks at me like a little puppy that wants to be patted on the head.

“Wow, great idea,” I praise, doing him the favor and making him all proud. “That way we get to spend even more time together!”

“That would indeed be great,” Ofelia confirms with a smile. “Especially since I wouldn’t want my skills to get rusty. So a little training would definitely do me good.”

“And you’re actually okay with this, too?” I then ask, turning back to Troy, happy but a little disbelieving nevertheless.

Troy just shrugs, then replies with a sarcastic, but good-natured grin. “Of course. I’m always happy to train my former foes, so she can kick our asses once we’re back to war.”

“Oh, if it helps, I promise not to use any of the skills you teach me against you!” Ofelia counters with a chuckle herself.

They go on joking on that for a while, and watching them like this, I realize how happy this indeed makes me, seeing Ofelia and Troy – two people who mean so much to me – get along so well.

My original fear, as it turns out, was entirely without any reason.

Come to think of it, it’s actually not that much of a surprise. Cause if Troy likes tough women like my mom, he’s basically bound to love Ofelia.

 

***

 

That night, I snuggle against Troy’s side with a blissful grin on my face, waiting for my breathing to finally calm down a little, humming approvingly as he wraps his arm around me to pull me closer, fingers loosely tangling in my hair.

“That was so good, as always,” I whisper, placing a soft kiss on his shoulder.

“Sure was…” he replies immediately, and even though I can’t see his face, I know there’s a smile on it as well.

For a while, we just lie there like this in silence, and I’ve already started to assume he’s fallen asleep, when suddenly he calls my name in the darkness.

“Hey, Nick... I uhm... Can I ask you something? I was wondering...”

“Hm?” I reply leisurely, still indulging in the memory of our passionate moments minutes ago.

“I’ve never asked, but… Have you... have you ever been with a man before?”

I blink at that unexpected question, frowning in surprise for a moment. Then, almost a little endeared by his sudden curiosity, I grin. “Well, of course,” I reply nonchalantly. “Just… Monday night for example. Thought you’d been there, too.” Shrugging, smirk widening. “But then again, it _was_ pretty dark...”

Chuckling, he gives me a soft clap on the head and growls. “Dumbass. It _was_ me.”

“ _Whew_!” I joke with mock-relief, laughing happily.

He however doesn’t seem satisfied with a little bit of humor. “Seriously though.”

“Well, what about you?” I counter, propping myself up on my elbow to look at him.

He shoots me a glance. “Well, you know everything about me,” he replies briefly.

“Yeah, but…” Shaking my head. “Have you never been… in love with anyone? I mean, haven’t you ever had a crush on anyone?”

He snorts sarcastically at that, eyes locking back to mine. “Well, on _whom_?”

I admit he does have a point. The range of people our age here at the ranch is indeed somewhat limited. There has, however, been something on my mind, something that had me thinking for a long time. I figure now might be the chance to ask. “Were you…” I start with a low voice, eyeing him with a stern face. “Were you in love with Mike?”

I don’t know what kind of reaction I expected. What I get however is a look of utter disbelief. “With _Mike_?!” he repeats, unbelieving. “You’re kidding.”

“Well, I was just thinking,” I explain a bit defensively. “Considering the way you reacted when he left…” I’ve always felt that what he did couldn’t be explained with just abandoned friendship. To me, his reaction had always felt like something someone would do on impulse when having their feelings hurt, their heart broken.

“No,” Troy insists, now significantly calmer though. “We were just friends.” He purses his lips as he looks back at me. “Truth is… I’ve never felt that way for anyone before.” Nodding softly at me.

I can’t help giving him a gentle smile at that.

So whether Troy’s feelings for Mike were indeed solely platonic or he’s just denying it to me (and maybe also himself), I’ll probably never know. Still, holding his eyes, I go on. “But have you never felt some kind of craving or… _need_?”

“Not really,” he shrugs to my surprise. “I had more important things to do than think about that.”

It’s weird, but the way he says this, so genuine and nonchalant, I may actually believe it.

A few moments later, though, his eyes grow warm again and he chuckles. “Goes without saying,” he purrs softly, “now that I’ve had a taste, I couldn’t be without it anymore.”

“Hmmh, that’s the spirit,” I grin against his lips as he leans in, kissing me lovingly.

Once we break away though, his eyes are still on me, curiously. “You still haven’t answered _my_ question.”

“Oh, well, you know, Troy,” I sigh, letting myself drop on my back to look up at the ceiling. “To be honest, I’ve already done a lot of things in a drug haze.”

“Oh…” comes his reply.

Yeah, I knew he’d react like this, that’s why I would have preferred not answer in the first place. Quickly trying to calm the waves, I turn my head to him. “But you don’t have to grow all pale now, okay? I assure you I don’t remember most of it, anyway.”

To my surprise, however, he’s by no means cast his eyes down or looked away bashfully. On the contrary.

“I’m not growing pale,” he points out, looking right back at me, and the determination in his eyes almost takes my breath away for a moment. “I wanna know.”

“Know?” I repeat, speechless. I’m totally taken aback by this reaction. Is he actually serious?

Well, come to think of it, learning and discovering new things has always been such an essential part of who he is. Why should it be any different in this regard? It fits him, I decide. And I certainly can’t deny the thrills of anticipation his words send down my spine.

“Show me,” he demands, leaning in once more for a kiss – or rather _bite_.

“Fine,” I counter as I bite back teasingly. “I’ll think of something.”

I feel him grin contently at that, then he wraps his arms around me to seal it with another kiss.

“For the record, though,” I point out eventually, stealing one last kiss, “you’re the first and only man I’ve been with sober.”

He chuckles at that and I’m rewarded with an appreciating smile, making it obvious this actually means something to him.

“And thank God,” I go on, “because I couldn’t bear losing the memory of even one single moment we shared.”

“Me neither,” he assures me, then gives me one final kiss, before settling down by my side with a happy, peaceful sigh, head resting on my shoulder.

I wrap my arm around him, enjoying the warmth of his skin against mine, but for some reason I’m too excited right now to just close my eyes to sleep. My mind’s already working to come up with things he might enjoy – when unexpectedly, Troy speaks once more, and – to my utter consternation – it’s what follows that will _actually_ keep me awake thinking tonight.

“So until now, the only ones you’ve been with sober were women?” he concludes, voice eventually fading in the darkness of the room.

Surprised by this, I startle. “I guess,” I reply, a bit wary, suddenly uncertain where this is going.

“What’s it... like? To be with a woman?”

 _What’s it like to be with a..._ What? The words resound in my head.

Wait a minute! Where the hell is _this_ coming from?!

Suddenly uncomfortable, I shift a little. “I dunno...” I reply, uneasy. What kind of question is that anyway? He’s with me, so why would he even care?

And moreover: What am I supposed to reply to that?! My first impulse of course is to talk it down. But I guess it wouldn’t sound very convincing if I informed him about how badly it sucked... because why then would I have only been with women so far?

On the other hand, I definitely can’t rave about it. The fear of accidentally advertising it to him makes my chest clench. But at the same time, if I stay too vague about it, I might only end up fueling his curiosity.

“Well, I guess, women are…” I start, without even knowing where I wanna go with this, “softer in a way... at certain parts... you know… Curvier... Lighter... They have more delicate fingers...” What the _hell_?!

I shoot him a glance, but whereas I think that’s more than enough for an answer, the unfazed gaze in his eyes tells me that for him it’s not enough.

I clear my throat. “Maybe it’s also a little easier, sometimes... In a way…” I ramble on, as vaguely as possible. “I mean, you can do it even if you don’t have any… uhm… you know… But I guess that also depends...” By now, I’m helplessly stammering, so I’m gratefully accepting the first clear thought that crosses my mind. “Oh, and once a month they have their period. Then you better leave them alone if you don’t want to get your eyes scratched out.” Relieved that I’ve actually found a negative aspect after all, I relax a little, taking a deep breath.

When I eventually look down at him, though, to my surprise, he doesn’t seem neither confused nor particularly interested, but rather strangely pensive, like my words were something to brood about. Just what the freaking hell is going on in his mind??

And without me wanting to, a strange fear starts spreading in my heart, a subtle suspicion, but a suppressive one nevertheless.

_Be nice to her, okay?_

_Hey, Nick, guess what. I just invited Ofelia to join us for training!_

_If Troy likes tough women like my mom, he’s basically bound to love Ofelia._

Almost screaming on the inside with a sudden panic, I involuntarily tighten my grip around him. “But I guess in the end, all that _really_ matters is how much you love this person you’re with.” I force myself to give him an encouraging smile, but I’m not sure whether I succeed or fail.

“Huh,” he murmurs at that, this pensive look still on his face, and somehow that gives me another sting in the heart.

Eventually he blinks and looks up at me with a strange expression. “So that basically means it doesn‘t matter _how_ we‘re doing it, as long as it’s _you and me_?” He shoots me a suggestive grin, which, however, feels somewhat forced as well.

“Basically,” I reply automatically, and automatically is also how I return the kiss he‘s giving me then, whereas in my heart I don‘t feel anything at all.

Because, strange as it may be, his gesture feels like he was just doing it to reassure me – and why would I need reassurance if there was nothing to worry about in the first place?

 

***

 

What‘s the deal between Troy and Ofelia? Ever since last night, ever since the little puzzle pieces of doubt have slowly started assembling, the uneasiness hasn‘t left my mind.

Is there actually something going on between them? Is Troy starting to feel interested in her? I can‘t tell.

But our shooting practice the next morning actually doesn‘t help at all to set my mind at ease. On the contrary. Seeing them interact once more, it only helps fueling my suspicion.

Turns out while most of the militiamen and -women are standing next to each other in one row, aiming at the targets on the field in front of us, Ofelia‘s in the center of Troy‘s attention.

First, he helps her select one of the weapons from the rack, then explains the technique and goals of the training session to her extensively.

Yeah, you may have guessed: I‘m having a bit of trouble concentrating on my task, when all I’m actually caring about is keeping an eye on them from the corner of my eyes.

No, Nick, stop this! You‘re seeing things! He‘s just being nice to her, because... Well, because you _asked him to be_ , after all! So pull yourself together and shoot that damn can off that box!

Forcing myself to focus on the task, I close one eye to take a better aim – but just as I‘m on and about to pull the trigger, Ofelia‘s merry laughter makes me wince.

Raising my head like a meerkat, I spot them still standing by the weapon‘s rack, Ofelia laughing sillily, while Troy‘s apparently fervently talking to her about something, eyes sparkling with humor as he grins as well.

“Troy!” I call, and it‘s an impulsive reaction.

He stops laughing immediately and turns his head to me.

I have no idea what I should ask him. All I know is that in a fit of jealousy, I needed to separate them, no matter what.

“I‘m having trouble with my gun, somehow,” I lie, unable to come up with any better excuse. “Could you maybe take a look?”

He says something to Ofelia, pointing at one of the targets, then she nods and gets ready to practice.

“I keep trying to shoot, but it’s blocked,” I say as soon as Troy’s with me.

“What do you mean, blocked?” he asks me casually, frowning.

“I don‘t know,” I reply immediately. “I keep trying to pull the trigger, but it won‘t work.”

Wordlessly, he takes the gun from my hands, inspecting it from every side. Then he lifts it, aims at the target – and shoots.

“Wow, would you look at that,” I comment with fake admiration. “Troy Otto works his magic and a gun fires. Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Shooting him a flirty look.

Troy however just blinks at me with an unreadable expression as he hands me the gun back. “It wasn‘t blocked,” he states bluntly, then shakes his head. “Is everything alright with you, Nick? You‘re acting weird.”

“Weird? Pah,” I laugh it away. “I have no idea what you‘re talking about. But watch this.”

I take aim at the cans. Maybe I can at least impress him with my expert marksmanship. But as I pull the trigger and the gunshot echoes over the field, none of the cans even move in the slightest.

“Well, I...” I murmur, catching myself babbling something about the wind when I feel Troy‘s hand on my shoulder.

“Just keep practicing,” he tells me encouragingly. “That‘s what we‘re here for after all.” With that, he turns around – and heads straight back to Ofelia. It‘s unbelievable... There are other people in this training as well that might be in more dire need of his coaching than her!

And still, analyzing her technique and commenting on it is what he does.

 _Yeah, right..._ The only straw left to break the camel’s back would be for him to stand behind her and clichédly adjust her hands and grip to improve her aiming – oh, and there he goes!! You wouldn‘t believe it!! It‘s pathetic, honestly! I don‘t even know whether I wanna laugh or cry or simply throw up!

“Uh-huh!” Suddenly Jimmy’s voice is chiming next to me and he gives me a smirk, pointing at Troy and Ofelia. “Would you look at that?” he goes on with a suggestive tone. “Looks to me like someone might get lucky tonight...”

I don’t reply to that but focus back on my task. I don’t say it out loud, but as far as I’m concerned the chances of Troy _getting lucky tonight_ are decreasing every second.

And let’s not even mention the fact I‘m holding a gun in my hand, and considering what I‘m feeling right now, this might not be the best prerequisite. So before worse things happen, I direct the barrel on the target and fire three times – and three times hit the bullseye.

Not that anyone would notice.


	7. Battle for Ofelia (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Nick, indeed! The uncertainty is getting to him... Well, thank you all very much for commenting and enjoying the first part of the jealousy plot :)  
> So here we finally go with the resolution! This actually turned out the longest chapter I've written so far for this story (I apologize), and I was already considering splitting it up once more. But then I realized it wouldn't make much sense without posting it at least as far as the resolution, and once that's out, the ending alone wouldn't make for a separate chapter either.  
> So here's a bit more this time :) I really hope you'll like how the plot is resolved and enjoy the second part :)

During those past few months we’ve been together now, it’s eventually become a habit for us to spend the nights together – sometimes involving sex, sometimes just us spending the night in each other’s arms. Either way, this habit has by now become so established, we’ve rather come to notify the other in case one night _won’t_ work instead of agreeing on the many nights that do.

Tonight, however, I just can’t bring myself to be around him, and I certainly don’t feel like telling him and being forced to discuss the reasons with him. So against our habit, I simply don’t show up at his place. Instead I have an entirely different destination in mind.

Knocking at the door, it’s eventually Alicia that opens.

“Nick,” she calls me with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Alicia,” I reply, trying to catch a glimpse past her into the room. “Is Jake home?”

“No, he’s out with Mom and a few guys from the militia scouting for schoolbooks,” she explains quickly. “They won’t be back until tomorrow. I thought she told you.”

“She probably has,” I confess with a shrug, “but I forgot.” There’ve been other things on my mind lately than keeping tracks of my mom’s schedule.

“What do you want from Jake? Maybe I can help,” she offers.

“I’m actually here for you,” I tell her quickly. “Can I come in?”

By the crestfallen look on my face she must notice immediately something’s wrong, so she opens the door wide, beckoning me to enter. “What’s going on?” she asks, voice concerned.

“It’s Troy...” I tell her with a sigh.

Frowning, she takes me to the living room. “What about him? Did something happen? Did he hurt you?”

“Not on purpose, no,” I tell her quietly, sitting down on the sofa as she takes a seat on the armchair next to me. “It’s not his fault...”

“What isn’t?” she asks slowly.

I look at her. “I think he might be developing feelings for Ofelia.”

“Ofelia?” Alicia immediately repeats, surprised. “What makes you think that? I wouldn’t have taken her for his type at all.”

“I’m not even sure he actually _has_ a type,” I point out with a shrug.

“But if he had, it wouldn’t be her,” Alicia insists. “Besides. You should see the way he looks at you whenever you’re around. He’s head over heels in love with you.”

“ _Was_ , maybe,” I continue, brooding. “Now I’m not so sure anymore. He’s been acting so strange ever since Ofelia came to the ranch. It’s like she’s the only person Troy has eyes and ears for anymore. You should have seen him at training today. He kept prowling around her like a little dog begging for attention. It was pathetic.”

She eyes me with surprise and empathy, listening patiently.

“And last night,” I go on eventually, almost shuddering as I think back to it now in hindsight. “He... Out of the blue he suddenly started drilling me with questions on what it’s like to be with a woman.”

I notice Alicia raising her eyebrows at that (not really bothering with whatever conclusions she may draw from that right now), even though I can’t bear to look at her directly.

“Like, why would he even care when he’s with me? Am I not enough for him anymore?”

“So what did you reply?” Alicia asks softly after a few minutes, eyes now resting on my clenched fists.

“I don’t even remember,” I murmur almost a little absentmindedly. “Something vague. I was scared of piquing his interest even more.”

“Maybe it was just Troy being Troy,” she eventually suggests encouragingly. “You know him. He’s kind of a researcher after all, always keen on getting to the bottom of things. Maybe it was just his usual curiosity without any deeper meaning.”

“But why would he come up with something like that now of all times?” I counter, not convinced at all. “It doesn’t make sense. Ofelia comes to the ranch, he’s all friendly with her and suddenly he wonders about sleeping with women?! It’s too much of a coincidence!”

She doesn’t reply, but lowers her head instead.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a package of cigarettes, pick one of them and light it. “I mean I just don’t get it...” I whisper weakly, cigarette glowing as I take a deep drag. “After all we’ve been through together, after all it took for us to even get together in the first place. I would have never guessed he’d drop me just like that, and so quickly.”

Saying this out loud actually gives me a sting in the heart. I mean, yeah, I’m not a moron. Considering the way we started out, maybe we were never meant to last in the first place. I can’t tell. But the months we’ve spent together so far were such an amazing, exciting journey... And I would have never guessed that I could actually find such happiness here at the ranch (in contrast to just _live_ here to get by, that is). So the mere thought of losing him so soon and in such a predictable way – no, simply the thought of losing him – nearly takes my breath away.

“What was I to him, then?” I shake my head, eventually hugging my legs to my chest. “Just some kind of firestone that comes in handy when you need to ignite a spark, but once the fire’s lit, it’s useless and you just throw it away like some random piece of garbage?”

It doesn’t help that this fear is also fueled by another thought that has been bugging me ever since  last night. I don’t say this out loud, because I feel it would be too personal to tell Alicia, but think of it: When I asked Troy about his previous crushes (or rather the lack thereof), he replied that now that he’s been with me, he couldn’t be without it anymore. And I remember for a fact that ‘ _it’_ was the word he used. Not without _‘you’_ or without _‘this’_. Without _‘it’_! Like it didn’t matter who he spent his nights with as long as it meant he kept getting laid.

“Come on, I’m sure that’s not how he sees you at all,” Alicia objects energetically, suddenly getting up from the armchair and sliding over to the couch next to me. “You know, I don’t really know Troy particularly well, so I fear I’m not that much of a help to you. But if you want me to, I could talk to Jake about it tomorrow and hear his opinion on this. Maybe he’s got an idea on what to do.”

“I appreciate that,” I whisper, shooting her a look. “But you’re already helping, I assure you. Just by hearing me out.” Taking her hands into mine gratefully.

She purses her lips with empathy, then shoots me an encouraging look. “I want you to be happy, Nick,” she whispers, “and I can see that being with Troy makes you exactly that. So promise me you won’t go down on this without a fight. Because if you do, you’ll regret it forever.”

“Fight?” I ask, shaking my head. “If it were anyone but Ofelia, I would have kicked their ass to Beijing ages ago.” Wringing my hands. “But Ofelia’s my friend. I could never fight against her.”

“Not _against her_ ,” Alicia corrects me as she softly wraps her arm around me and rests her head on my shoulder. “ _For Troy_.”

 

***

 

Following Alicia’s pep talk, I’m in fighting mode indeed as I join the militia at the designated rendezvous point for a scheduled routine mission the next day: Clear an abandoned gas station and its adjacent diner on the highway of potential walkers and secure the fuel and any useable goods for the ranch.

With twelve people and three pickups we head out, and once we’ve reached our destination after a one hour drive, we park our cars in safe distance and walk the rest of the way carrying our weapons and gear, to make sure we don’t draw any unnecessary attention to us.

It’s an exceptionally sticky day, the air burning hot, the sky covered by a thick layer of clouds.

Only once I accidentally turn my head, I notice Ofelia’s walking right next to me.

“Hey there,” I greet, shooting her a grin. “ _Great_ weather for a little hike like that, huh?” I joke.

“Phew, tell me about it,” she grimaces sarcastically, wiping her forehead.

“How’s the allergy test coming along?” I ask, nodding at her arm with the numbered sections.

“Oh, good, really good,” she replies quickly. “I’m developing a really nasty rash now, and it’s itching like crazy.” Shrugging with a grin. “But I guess that’s a good sign, no?”

“I fear so,” I reply empathically.

Probably without being aware of it, she’s started scratching her arm. “Tomorrow I’m having my final appointment with Pam, so we’ll see what kind of conclusions she’ll come up with then. If I can get a hold of the test strips she needs by then, that is.”

“Test strips?” I ask, looking at her.

She nods. “Yup. To measure the inflammatory markers in my blood. She used to have them at the infirmary, but not anymore. Apparently your friend McCarthy used to have some heavy allergies as well, so she suggested there might be some strips left at his outpost. Since I’m the one who needs them first and foremost, I volunteered to head out and get them this afternoon.”

“I see,” I reply with a nod. The area around that outpost is pretty clear of walkers, so I’m sure Ofelia will be fine. “You do know you can borrow a truck from Peter, right? I can introduce you to him and help you get one if you want to.”

“That’s so nice of you, thank you,” she shoots me an appreciating smile. “But Troy’s already offered to take me.”

_Troy’s already offered…_ Hell, what?! You _gotta_ be kidding me!!

In the blink of an eye, my confident, positive mood inverts, without me being able to do anything about it. I came here with the best of intentions, a soothing little angel named Alicia whispering softly in my ear, but already now my anger level is back to rising, an aggressive little imp named Nick taking over and kicking the little angel off my shoulder.

“Oh,” is all I reply, a possibly slightly exaggerated grin forming on my lips. “How nice.”

How nice indeed. Aside from spending every second together in training, you can now even go out on a little trip this afternoon, just the two of you in cozy togetherness, and while you’re out and alone in the middle of nowhere, why don’t you just go ahead and have sex in the back of the car? Finally! It was long overdue anyway.

Oh, the world is such a lovely place…

Wait, did that just make me sound bitter? I’m sorry. I have to apologize for my indignant behavior. But maybe it’s proof that I’m indeed slowly but surely starting to LOSE IT A LITTLE!!!!

“Yeah, he’s such a great guy, Troy…” I eventually manage to gnarl through my teeth, even though Ofelia luckily doesn’t seem to notice any of my underlying cynicism.

“Yeah, surprisingly, he is,” she replies genuinely, raising an eyebrow. “To be honest, I had the worst idea of him before I came here. To me, he was a menacing threat, an unpredictable foe…” Shrugging. “But I guess it must have been the same for you with Taqa. Only once we get to know them, we find out what kind of people they actually are.” Nodding at Troy who’s way up ahead of us, leading our little procession. “It’s as you said, there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

Punching myself mentally for having said that in the first place. To be honest, hearing her repeat it actually gives me a sting in the heart and for a second my anger makes way for a profound, deeply felt sadness.

But this is _my_ privilege…, I think, crestfallen. _I’m_ the one who can see the goodness inside him. Everyone knows what his voice sounds like when he’s growling or yelling, but I’m the only one who knows what it sounds like when he whispers a tender ‘I love you’.  Everyone knows him punch a foe or wield a knife or shoot a rifle, but I’m the only one who knows what his touch feels like when he’s softly stroking through my hair.

_I’m_ the lucky voyager who found this flower blooming in the desert. It’s mine and mine alone.

I couldn’t bear sharing that privilege with anyone. I couldn’t bear anyone taking it from me.

And immediately that little angel Alicia is back on my shoulder. _Fight! Not against her. But for him!_

 

Eventually we reach the building complex – the gas station and the diner – and Troy gathers us around, explaining the plan once more.

“So listen up, everyone. This place is swarming with walkers,” he reminds us, “but if we proceed with caution, clearing the place shouldn’t be much of a challenge.” Slowly, he lets his gaze wander across our group. “Rely on your knives as much as possible. Firing the gun will immediately send every single walker in there in your direction, so save it for serious emergencies.”

He waits for us to nod, then goes on.

“We’ll split up in teams of two,” he declares, now pacing slowly. “Each team will use a different entrance, and since the number of walkers should be spread evenly across the entire place, the number of targets for everyone should also keep within reasonable limits.”

Sounds like a valid plan, and for a moment it actually feels like I got my head in the game – regardless of all the trouble – until he starts assembling the teams, that is.

I’m with Coop. But as more and more people of our team get paired off, I more and more get the feeling I know exactly where this is gonna lead.

“And finally,” he concludes eventually, “Ofelia’s with me.”

You _gotta_ be kidding me…

I find myself shooting him a look of utter disappointment and hurt, but he doesn’t even care to grace me with a single glance.

_Fight! Not against her. But for him!_

Well, I can _try_ , Angel Alicia.

“Uhm, Troy?” I call, raising my hand.

Now, eventually, he does turn his head and meets my eyes.

“Maybe I should go with Ofelia,” I start, succeeding at saying this without any underlying sarcasm or hard feelings. “We know each other from way back, so I think we’d make a great team.”

For a moment, there’s something in his eyes. Disappointment? No. Probably annoyance that I could be trying to rain on his parade. He regains his composure immediately though. “Our priority is successfully completing the mission, Nick,” he reminds me, politely but firmly.

“Well, the mission could really benefit from that,” I insist with a shrug.

Troy holds my eyes. “We’re all excellent fighters here, so everyone makes a great team. It doesn’t matter who you’re with.”

“Well, if it doesn’t matter,” I counter, “then there shouldn’t be a problem with me teaming up with Ofelia.” I feel his displeasure rising with my persistence, so I shoot him a friendly smile to ease the tension a little.

I’m also keeping my eyes fixed on him to avoid Ofelia’s increasingly uncomprehending and baffled stare.

“Why?” Troy demands, now coming over to me. I get the feeling this isn’t exactly because he’s been missing my closeness, but rather because everyone’s watching our little drama with blank eyes, and since there’s not really anywhere for us to retreat to in order to have a more private heart-to-heart, he’s at least trying to keep it down as much as possible. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

Why does it matter so much to _you_?! Are you really that desperate for her presence you can’t even be without her for like ten minutes?!

“Well, Ofelia’s my friend,” I counter, a little more defensive now that he’s closer. “And she’s not yet back to full health. I’d feel much better if I knew her close so I can keep an eye on her.”

“It’s okay, really.” Suddenly, Ofelia chips in, touching my shoulder. “I’m perfectly fine, and as Troy said, we shouldn’t have too much of a problem dealing with the walkers in there. Don’t worry about me, Nick.”

Oh, come on, mind your own business, Ofelia! And could you please stop stabbing me in the back like that?! That would indeed be very much appreciated.

Ignoring her, I keep my eyes fixed on Troy. “I need to go with Ofelia.”

“No,” he eventually turns me down bluntly. “She’s not back to old health yet, and that’s exactly the reason why she’ll come with me.”

“Hello??” Ofelia frowns, now looking at both of us with disbelieve in her eyes.

Troy goes on, just as unfazed. “I invited her into the militia. I’m responsible for her safety. She’s going to stick with me, so _I_ can keep an eye on her.”

No. Sorry, Troy, but just…no. I’m not allowing it. No way in hell. You’re not going with Ofelia. And I’ll see to that, if it’s the last thing I do. I swear it.

I’m not saying this out loud, but the glare I shoot him right now should get the message across. “I can protect her just as well,” I hiss. “I’ll go with Ofelia.”

And all of a sudden, the paradox of our situation hits me like a bolt of lightning. How did it even come to this?! Instead of fighting with Ofelia over Troy, I’m now fighting with Troy over Ofelia!

“Protect me?!” Ofelia snarls at me. “I’m standing right here, by the way!”

Still holding Troy’s eyes, my face darkens with every second. “You go with Coop.”

“Enough already, Nick!” Troy suddenly barks at me, eyes now full of annoyance and disappointment. “I’m the one in charge here, and I say, I’m going with Ofelia. You go with Coop.” Basically spitting the words at me. “And that’s an _order_!”

Gosh, the stubbornness! Why on earth can’t you just give in already? Why does it matter _so much_ who gets to team up with Ofelia?

I may well be physically growling at him by now. “Jesus Christ, Troy! I don’t freaking CARE!” I burst out all of a sudden, eventually losing it after all, even though I started out with the best of intentions. “You’re not going with Ofelia, end of story!!”

What follows is a moment of utter silence. The militiamen staring at us, Ofelia staring at us, Troy staring at me, me staring at Troy. A crow cawing in the distance.

Still, my blood’s boiling. There’s so much I wanna throw at him right now, and it’s so incredibly hard to hold all those accusations back with everyone around. _How can you do this to me, Troy?How dare you dump me for Ofelia like that? How dare you break my heart?!_

In an instant, he’s grabbing me by my arm, and for a second it feels like we’re back to square one, like nothing had ever happened between us. I can’t even tell which one of the two feelings I’m experiencing right now is stronger: My hurt about that or the rage and disappointment I feel at being unable to do anything about him slipping through my fingers.

Giving me a rough jolt, his eyes glare back at me like glistening knives. “Have you lost your mind?! Do you even realize–“

His unexpectedly harsh grip is hurting me, so without wasting a second, I break free, pushing him off me. “Have _you_ lost your mind?!” I counter with a growl.

Automatically, he shoves me back in return, glaring.

“You…” I hiss, clenching my fist, now totally consumed by my own frustration and rage. To my bewilderment, I realize I actually _want_ to fight him, right here and now. I want to get this settled.

I’m just about to brace myself to come at him once more, when suddenly a deep voice interrupts me.

“Have you _both_ lost your minds?!”And before we even realize what’s happening, Coop’s stepping in, separating us. “What on _earth_ is even going on here?! Are you fourteen or what?!” he growls at us, shaking his head. “You know why women used to not be allowed in the army in the past?” Looking back and forth between both of us. “So that men wouldn’t start acting like _total jerks_ around them!”

Only now we realize everyone is staring at us, appalled and disbelieving, first and foremost Ofelia, whose angered look makes my blood freeze for a second.

“Ofelia’s coming with me,” Coop declares, pushing past us. “The two of you can work together, maybe that’ll help you cool off.”

Troy turns his head, eyes narrowed at his right hand man. “That’s not up to you to decide, Coop. Have you forgotten I’m the one in command here?”

Coop stops in his steps for a second, then shoots Troy one fed-up look over his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll remember once you’re back to acting like it.” With that, he turns around and wordlessly heads for the gas station.

Ofelia doesn’t waste a second to follow him, not without shooting me one final glare of total disappointment as she passes me. “What the hell, Nick,” she hisses, shaking her head at me, and her disapproving look hits harder than any bullet ever could.

One by one, the rest of the militiamen follow.

The only ones left behind are Troy and me.

And there’s one thing Coop was right about indeed: Cool off is definitely what we do. Considering the thick walls of ice that have suddenly materialized between us.

We do end up playing our parts on that mission – and the mission turns out a success. However, during all of this, not one single word is exchanged between us.

 

***

 

The following day, Jake is busy working on the fields planting lettuce, when unexpectedly Troy approaches him, his shadow shielding off the relentless midday sun for a pleasant moment.

“Need a hand?” the younger brother asks, looking down at him.

Jake nods at the pallets of lettuce yet to be planted out – it’s obvious there is still a lot of work to be done. “I’d be an idiot if I declined.”

Giving him a quick grin, Troy puts on a pair of gardening gloves and kneels down next to his brother. Continuing Jake’s pattern, he starts digging a row of small holes for the plants.

For several minutes, they work like this in silence, but judging from Troy’s apparent uneasiness, Jake can tell immediately there’s something on his brother’s mind.

“Actually,” Troy starts after a while, a bit hesitating, “there’s something I need your advice on.”

Jake pauses in his work for a second, shooting his brother a concerned look.

“It’s about Ofelia,” Troy confesses without looking up.

Jake closes his eyes for a second, remembering what Alicia had told him upon his return yesterday. _Nick fears Troy might have fallen in love with her._

“I’m at a loss here, brother,” Troy goes on, murmuring helplessly. “Ever since she came to the ranch, everything has changed. It’s just… I… When I think of her…” Shaking his head. “I’m overwhelmed by all those feelings… It’s hard to put it into words.”

So it’s true?! Nick’s suspicion has been correct? It gives Jake a sting in the heart. Truth is, he’d hoped for it to be nothing but Nick’s imagination. Even though they’ve only been together a few months so far, Nick’s positive influence on Troy has become more than apparent. He’s calmer now, less erratic, more rational – and most importantly, happier. It’s what Jake had always wished for for his brother. And the fact that it had eventually been Nick of all people, someone he could trust, had been such an incredible relief to Jake. The mere thought of that relationship shattering into pieces and the unpredictable consequences this might have… It sends a shiver down Jake’s spine.

But wait. Maybe it’s a good thing Troy has come to him on this. Maybe he can influence him somehow and help saving their relationship.

“I’ve heard about it, Troy,” Jake confesses eventually, and, answering Troy’s puzzled look with a quiet voice, he adds, “Nick has told Alicia.”

Jake’s words come unexpected to Troy and in all honesty, they take his breath away for a second. But he fights not to let it show. _So it’s already that serious Nick even confides in his sister about it_ , he thinks resigning.

“So you know what I’m dealing with at the moment,” Troy concludes. “And you can understand I’m at a loss here. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do anymore.” He shakes his head, absentmindedly taking a few lettuce plants to set them into the soil. “I’ve never felt like this before in my life,” he points out. “It’s especially hard when I’m alone with Ofelia. I can hardly contain myself.” Sighing helplessly. “More than once I was this close to just grabbing her and...”

“Troy!” Jake interrupts him. “Don’t even go there! You have to fight it! Because if you give in to those feelings, you’ll end up hurting Nick.”

“I know,” Troy murmurs with a nod. “But if I don’t, the one hurting is me.”

Jake lowers his head with empathy and sadness in his eyes.

“I didn’t want things to be like this,” Troy sighs, “but that’s what we’re stuck with now. If it wasn’t reality, I’d laugh at how clichéd this sounds, like it was nothing but some stupid romance movie setting. Two people meet and the audience immediately knows they’re meant to be, a match made in heaven. But then there is this nuisance, some impertinent ex, who wants to barge in and tear that amazing couple apart.”

_Impertinent nuisance?!_ Jake stares back at his brother with shock in his eyes. Has Ofelia really gotten him under her spell so badly Troy’d even refer to Nick in such a horrible way? Nick, whom until yesterday Troy seemed to adore like the most valuable and delicate treasure in the world?!

“But this is real life,” Troy growls with determination, “and here I guess it’s up to me to get rid of that nuisance, one way or another.” And a bit softer he adds, “Don’t get me wrong, Jake, I don’t mean killing, not necessarily.”

_Killing?!_ Jake grows paler and paler, panic spreading inside him. This is bad. Really bad. So much worse than he’d feared…

“Exile would be enough,” Troy goes on, unfazed.

“How can you even say something like that?!” Jake whispers breathlessly, staring at his brother. “Banishment would be a death sentence to him! You know what! He could never survive long in the desert!”

Troy startles for a moment, giving his brother a frown. “ _He_? You mean _she_. Oh, and she could. She’s managed before. Besides, we’d just kick her ass back to Walker and everyone would be happy,” he states as a matter of fact, holding his brother’s eyes.

_Kick her ass...?_ Now Jake’s entirely confused. What the hell is Troy even talking about?!

“Wait a minute...” Jake goes on eventually, as slowly but surely it starts dawning to him what’s _actually_ going on. Warily, he narrows his eyes at Troy. “What exactly are you referring to?”

“What do you mean?” Troy replies, puzzled. “I thought you’d heard the story.”

“I’ve heard one version of a story. Now I wanna hear yours.”

“Fine,” Troy agrees after a few moments, putting the shovel down as he takes a deep breath. “As I said, it all started, when Ofelia came here. I sensed immediately there was something going on between her and Nick... The way they looked at each other, the familiarity between them...” He sighs and shakes his head. “When I confronted Nick about it, he didn’t even deny it. He said it was long over and I shouldn’t worry about it, but then they started taking these long, romantic strolls around the ranch...” Snorting. “I spotted them once from the watchtower, and they were holding hands and hugging.”

Jake doesn’t comment, just listens to his brother’s version of the story, marveling at this unexpected, tragicomical turn of events. (Of course – knowing Troy – it’s also pretty clear to him that Troy’s ‘I spotted them from the watch tower’ actually means he went up there on purpose to spy on them.)

“I needed to find out the truth,” Troy goes on, voice gradually shakier. “I had to find out what was _really_ going on between them. So I came up with an idea. I needed to find out whether Nick actually prefers women over men – Ofelia over me. But of course I couldn’t just ask him bluntly, he would have lied to reassure me. So I took a more subtle approach and innocently asked him to tell me about what it’s like to be with a woman. My plan was to assess his preference by his reaction.”

“What did he reply?” Jake asks.

“He basically made it clear he prefers women,” Troy admits with a pained voice. “It was stupid to even ask in the first place. In truth, he was already slipping through my fingers, without me being able to do anything about it.”

“Troy…” Jake whispers empathically, the crestfallen look on his brother’s face increasingly getting to him.

Troy shakes his head, an absentminded look in his eyes. “But he asked me to be nice to Ofelia, so I thought, even if physically he prefers Ofelia, maybe at least character-wise I can make a good impression, and so I was as nice and polite to Ofelia as I could be. I wanted to prove to Nick that I didn’t mind. That I could be open-minded and open-hearted to the people he cares about, that I’m not a jealous type.” Eyes suddenly darting back to Jake. “I even invited her into the militia – an enemy! – and showed her everything there is to know about the weapons. But Nick just started acting weird. He called me over all the time at training, coming up with the most ridiculous reasons just to get me away from Ofelia. It was like he couldn’t even stand her being with someone else but him for like five minutes! And the situation almost escalated when he was supposed to team up with someone else but her during yesterday’s mission. Gosh, you should have seen him… He looked like was about to murder me…”

“I can imagine what that must have felt like,” Jake points out softly.

“That’s not even the worst thing about it,” Troy counters, casting his eyes down. “The night before yesterday... We were supposed to see each other in the evening, but he never showed up. And when I went to look for him, he wasn’t at the cottage either. I...” He swallows hard, then shakes his head. “I fear he spent the night with her.”

For a few moments, Jake sits there in total silence next to his brother, then all of a sudden he starts laughing out loud, a huge wave of relief finally surging over him.

Troy immediately shoots his brother a sharp look. It hurts him really bad to think his brother was making fun of his pain – something that didn’t seem like the kind-hearted Jake he knew at all!

“It’s not funny,” Troy points out sadly. “I didn’t laugh either when you found out Yvonne had cheated on you at university.”

“No,” Jake admits, growing serious immediately. “You just pointed out I’d been a moron to get involved with her in the first place and she’d always smelled like a rhino anyway.”

At that, Troy can’t help giving him a guilty chuckle. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Not the best kind of comfort for a broken heart,” Jake reminds him.

“No, I realize that now,” Troy agrees, pursing his lips, but still can’t resist to add sheepishly, “It was true though.”

Jake just tsks at him with a long sigh.

“Maybe you can do better than me?” Troy raises his eyebrows, shooting his brother a hopeful look. “What am I supposed to do?”

Jake’s face eventually grows empathic again, and he takes a deep breath as he pats his brother’s shoulder. With fondness in his eyes, he ends up cracking a wry grin. “Alright, Troy, I do have a piece of advice for you. It may sound strange, but you absolutely have to trust me on this. Go to Nick and tell him you think it extremely sucks, the way he keeps pining after Ofelia.”

“What? No! I can’t,” Troy shakes his head. “I can’t just tell him bluntly.”

“Trust me on this, Troy,” Jake insists. “Do it and I promise you you’ll fall asleep tonight with a smile on your face.”

 

***

 

So about one week after Pam had applied the various allergic substances to Ofelia’s arm, the time for her final check-up and the moment of truth has come.

And as Ofelia’s friend – which is what I’ll always be no matter what – I’ve decided to accompany her to the infirmary, to make sure she’s okay.

“I’m a little nervous about the results,” she tells me, once we wait for Pam to finish treating another patient.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” I tell her reassuringly. “In just a few minutes, we’ll know.”

“Yeah, most of it, anyway,” Ofelia shrugs. “At least the part that doesn’t require the test strips.”

Blinking at her. “Why? I thought you went to McCarthy’s with Troy to get them?” Could it be? Maybe, by any chance, they didn’t go after all?

“We did,” Ofelia confirms, shattering my faint hopes. “But there weren’t any left. We’ll have to retrieve some from an actual pharmacy.”

_Troy and you again?_ is what I’m just about to ask, when right at that moment Pam comes over to us, interrupting the conversation.

“So, let’s take a look at you,” Pam turns to Ofelia, inspecting her arm closely.

“Sections one and five have broken out in a rash,” Ofelia tells her immediately, pointing at the reddened skin. “Itches like crazy, too. The rest seems alright.”

“Five looks especially nasty,” Pam confirms with a worried nod. “Alright, so let me check my table… One and five… One and five…” Flipping some of the pages from her notebook. “Ah, there it is. Okay. From what I can tell, it looks like you’re pretty heavily allergic to sagebrush.”

“Sagebrush?” I repeat, surprised. “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I look at both of them. “It’s not like there’s any danger of her accidentally having some for breakfast.”

Ofelia gives me a relieved smile, whereas Pam on the other hand seems a little more reluctant.

“No,” she agrees, “but unfortunately a sagebrush allergy often triggers cross-allergies.” Shooting Ofelia a skeptical look. “In your case, a cross-allergy against vegetables like celery and pepper, fruit like kiwi, mango and melons, and spices like coriander, caraway or cinnamon.” Answering Ofelia’s helpless glance reassuringly, she adds, “I’ll make you a list.”

“That would indeed be very helpful,” Ofelia eventually says, nodding at Pam. “But I still don’t understand. I’ve never been allergic to all those things before.”

“Allergies tend to develop from exposure,” Pam explains softly. “You’re from L.A. as well, like Nick, right?”

She nods.

“So you’ve probably never been that exposed to sagebrush pollen as you’re now out here in the wilderness.”

Ofelia casts down her eyes. “Makes sense…” Then she looks back up at the medic. “Thank you so much for your help. You’re literarily a lifesaver.”

“You be your own lifesaver and mind the list,” Pam only replies with a good-natured chuckle.

“Will do!” Ofelia confirms diligently.

“Good,” the medic replies. “I’ll give you a little something for emergencies, though, just in case. Give me a minute...”

Pam turns around and vanishes in another room, and even though everything’s apparently fine, I decide to stick around a bit longer anyway, unable to shake off the persistent feeling it won’t be long until lover boy shows up as well to make sure his damsel in distress is alright and not about to suffocate from accidentally snacking some random peanut granola bar.

I feared this would happen, and it’s also one of the reasons I wanted to join Ofelia here, I admit that – but when Troy actually shows up at the infirmary, the sight of him still gives me a sting in the heart.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” he says immediately, as soon as he notices me already holding Ofelia’s hand during this oh so critical doctor’s appointment.

I wanted to be strong, I really did, but the fact that he once again proved me right even when all I wanted was for him to prove me wrong just _once_ , an unexpected harsh feeling of disappointment, jealousy and rage overtakes me and for a second I can’t fight my impulsive reaction.

Without even wanting to, I find myself back on my feet. “I’ll give the two of you a moment,” I declare, utterly failing at hiding the bitterness in my voice.

Pushing past a seemingly perplexed Troy, I storm off outside.

 

Immediately appreciating the fresh air and the warm sunshine on my skin, I feel my nerves calming down at least a little. To my endless surprise however, there’s actually footsteps behind me, a voice calling my name. Troy.

No way. We’re not doing this right here and now, out in the open and in broad daylight. No way in hell. So instead of stopping, I keep going unfazed.

Persistent as he is however, Troy takes up his pace, and all of a sudden, I feel a tight grip on my arm as I’m being pulled into the narrow space between the infirmary and the adherent building.

Instinctively bracing myself to fight back, my eyes widen in surprise as Troy unexpectedly lets go of me just like that, and instead of yelling, instead of fighting, he catches my lips in a heartfelt, passionate kiss.

Worrying I might actually be caught in some kind of fever dream, I end up kissing him back rather automatically than intentionally, but that doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around me, intensifying the kiss.

And once he eventually breaks away, his eyes are basically sparkling with affection and bliss.

“Now I really don’t understand anything anymore...” I tell him bluntly, honestly not getting what’s going on here anymore.

“All that pining for Ofelia, Nick,” Troy counters, shooting me a look of mock reproach, “totally not cool!”

_What the freaking hell?!_ is what I want to reply, but I’m too startled to speak.

The smile on Troy’s face however hasn’t changed in the slightest, no matter the look I’m giving him right now. “Don’t you see?” he starts happily. “It’s all just a huge misunderstanding!” He spells it out eventually as my persisting slow-wittedness apparently wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated.

“A misunderstanding?” I repeat, eventually breaking from my stupor, my mind however warning me not to get my hopes up too soon – whereas my heart points out the way he kissed me just now shouldn’t leave any doubts about who’s actually in love with whom.

Nodding genuinely, looking back at me with relief in his face. “I love you, Nick, you and only you,” he declares enthusiastically. “And you love me. Me and not Ofelia.”

“Ofelia?” I repeat once more, eyes narrowing. “What would even make you _think_ something like that?”

He holds my eyes, shrugging. “The same things that made you assume _I_ was interested in her.”

Processing his words, I feel my eyes widen once more, as slowly but surely the realization kicks in. “No way...” I whisper, suddenly breathless. “Don’t tell me...”

Troy just nods. “Yep. One chain of events, two very different interpretations. Yours and mine. They did have their minor discrepancies...”

“So you’re not in love with Ofelia?!” I need to hear him spell it out explicitly.

“No!” he confirms, laughing. “Never was, never will be.”

Looking back at him for a long time, eventually his joy and relief is spreading to me as well and suddenly realizing that no, I haven’t lost him, not one single bit, not one single moment, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close, as tightly as I possibly can.

“I love you,” I hiss, suddenly a bit breathless as I bury my face in his hair. Overjoyed with relief, I close my eyes. “God, I love you so much!”

 

It’s hard to believe how a chain of wrong assumptions could actually lead to both of us to basically preparing ourselves to cope with an impending break-up.

I’m speechless more than once as we share our versions of the story, shaking my head realizing for the first time how this or that specific moment actually made him feel, even if my original intention had been an entirely different one.

“But if you’re not in love with Ofelia,” I look at him, “why were you so persistent to team up with her at the gas station? Why were you so keen on spending every single moment with her? Why even bother to take the trip to McCarthy’s with her?”

“You told me to be nice to her,” Troy replies bluntly, “so I _was_ nice to her.” Then, he admits a bit sheepishly, “Also, I may have wanted to keep the two of you apart.”

Holding his eyes, I take a sharp breath through my teeth, relief and disbelief creating a strange mixture in my heart. Then, with a sarcastic chuckle, I reply, “Trust me, I _kinda_ get that feeling…”

It’s the sound of a car engine that interrupts our conversation eventually. Re-emerging from behind the infirmary to check out what’s going on, we’re surprised to spot Walker’s pickup stopping in front of the entrance, the tall man getting out of the car and immediately heading for the infirmary.

“Ofelia,” he calls immediately, as we follow him to the door in safe distance.

Kneeling down in front of Ofelia, who’s still sitting on her cot, he doesn’t waste a second to ask her how she’s feeling, eyes lighting up immediately once she assures him she’s fine.

“Thank God,” he says eventually as she smiles at him, and right at that moment, the unbelievable happens: Walker sits up on the cot next to her, touches her cheek softly, and with relief in their eyes, they wrap their arms around each other and lean in to share a long, tender kiss, smiling happily against each other’s lips.

Hastily averting my eyes, I swallow hard, now _really_ feeling like a total fool. “You gotta be kidding me...” I whisper to Troy, shaking my head.

Troy just sighs softly, pursing his lips. “That would have been nice to know one week ago…”

At this however, I can’t help chuckling. Grabbing his sleeve, I gently tug at it to make him follow me outside. “Let’s give the reunited lovers some privacy,” I tell him.

And once the infirmary’s door has closed behind us, I shoot Troy a look over my shoulder. “And let’s get some privacy ourselves,” I whisper, since after all, reunited lovers is what we are as well.

 

***

 

The setting evening sun sends its copper-colored light through Troy’s window, as he and I lie there on his bed, face-to-face, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“I really thought I’d lost you,” he whispers after an eternity, voice soft but the echoes of the pain he endured those past days involuntarily mixing in as well.

“I thought so, too,” I reply, face as serious, “and it was unbearable.”

He goes for an appreciating smile, but it sorta turns out a weak one nevertheless. “You know, it’s funny in a way,” he murmurs eventually, eyes growing distant. “Back when you came here to the ranch, those first few weeks… I wanted to get rid of you. I hoped that Luciana would leave – and that you would chase after her.” His eyes lock back to mine. “When I learned you’d decided to stay, I was disappointed. But now…” Shaking his head as if to get rid of a bitter memory. “Now the mere thought there was an actual possibility this could have happened… it gives me a sting in the heart.”

He reaches for my hand and takes it, clasps it, as if to make sure I wouldn’t go away. “Those past few days made me realize,” he confesses, “I couldn’t ever live without you anymore, Nick. Never.”

“I couldn’t either,” I reply, his words touching me at the very core of my heart, but at the same time also make me happy, because I know I do feel the same. “And it’s also funny, since in the beginning I actually wanted to leave… And one of the main reasons for that was you.” I reach for his cheek, let my fingers trail along his face. “Then there was your father, and he gave me a reason to stay. And it was such a lucky chance – since now here we are, and thanks to you I got more than just a reason to stay. I got a reason to live.” My thumb has come to rest on the bruises under his eye, his souvenir from the very first day we met. I don’t think it’ll ever heal completely. Softly, I stroke over the reddened skin.

“I love you, Troy,” I whisper. “I know we say it to each other all the time, off-handedly, but I mean it. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Nicky,” he replies, bringing our hands to his lips to plant a kiss on mine. “And I’m so incredibly happy to have you back.”

“You never lost me,” I remind him, a soft smile curving my lips. “Just as I never lost you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, then shrugs with a quiet chuckle. “Let’s still try not to do that again anytime soon, okay?”

“Certainly not,” I nod, returning the chuckle. “I’m done with jealousy for the time being.”

“Me too,” he replies, relieved. At least until another thought crosses his mind. “Even though objectively…” he starts, shooting me a reluctant glance, “I fear I may have already offered Ofelia to help her scout for the test strips tomorrow…” Pursing his lips a little insecurely. “I can cancel, though!”

Smiling softly, I shake my head. “It’s fine, Troy. No worries. It would be great if you could help her find the strips.”

Relieved at my reply, he returns the smile, then suddenly his eyes light up with another idea. “You should join us!”

“It’s okay, really.” I can’t help snickering. “I’m already assigned to another mission tomorrow, anyway. Just go with her.” I give him a reassuring nod, then however end up narrowing my eyes. “Unless…” Raising an eyebrow to shoot him a flirting look. “Was that just your way of suggesting a threesome?”

“I… Uhm…”

Seeing how this totally caught him off guard, I go on, just to tease him. “Of course, considering the unexpected revelation we just witnessed, I guess that would mean we’d have to invite Walker as well…”

“Walker?!” This time, Troy’s _actually_ growing pale.

I shrug. “Well, objectively he’s an extremely handsome man, so I guess I could go with that…”

“Yikes!” Troy counters eventually, shaking his head at me as if I’d just made him chew on a lemon slice.

“What,” I counter with a mock-growl. “Weren’t you the one so keen on exploring new ways to make our sex life more exciting?”

“Well,” he replies sheepishly, then shoots me a wry grin. “If there’s anything that I’ve learned those past days, then it’s the fact that I couldn’t share.”

I catch myself smiling fondly at that.

“Besides,” he adds, grin widening, “I think we had enough _excitement_ for one week.”

“Point taken,” I reply, chuckling merrily. And with that, I push myself on my elbow and lean towards him to steal a kiss.

He returns it with a smile, humming approvingly. “It’s funny,” he points out once I break away. “Jake predicted we’d fall asleep with a smile on our faces tonight.”

I blink at him for a moment, then can’t help laughing. He shrugs and grins, and eventually my smile turns into a smirk. Shooting him a suggestive look, I slowly slide closer. “Oh, Jake has no idea…”


	8. Movie Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for all your incredibly sweet comments on the jealousy chapters!! That made me very happy and I'm so glad you enjoyed my take on that plot so much :)  
> So after all that excitement from last time, we need a little breather, so here we go with a short little chapter of pure fluff ;) I hope you'll have fun reading!

**The Grand Cause – Movie Night**

 

Ever wondered what Troy’s room looks like?

Well, he just left for the shower, so why don’t I give you the tour?

First and foremost I have to point out – just like the rest of the house – his room is actually pretty tidy. Whereas character-wise he may at times seem rather chaotic and erratic, house-cleaning-wise he’s quite keen on keeping things in order. So naturally this also applies to his bedroom.

Most of the furniture in his room is made of the same dark wood as the furniture downstairs, for example his bed, which we have right here to our left – and for once, the checkered bedsheets have actually been made. A fact that comes pretty close to a wonder, since Troy isn’t the most diligent person when it comes to making his bed. He keeps claiming it’s pointless anyway, since in the evening you hop back into it anyway. For me of course that’s not a valid argument (our mother made sure of that when Alicia and I were kids), so in that regard, I may have actually turned into his mom myself, lecturing him about it, although with moderate success. What we did agree on however was that if it’s both of us involved in messing up the sheets, it should also be both of us contributing to making them again (and needless to say we immediately went ahead to verify the practicability of this agreement).

To the left side of the bed (his preferred side), there’s a small nightstand with an anthracite-colored nightlight and – most importantly – the framed picture of him and me that was my gift to him for his birthday a few weeks ago.

I pick it up for a moment, smiling fondly as I look at it. It shows us sitting on the small bench in front of Jake’s house, grinning at the camera with our arms around each other’s shoulders, raising our cans of coke at the camera.

It’s such a cute picture. I’d fallen in love with it immediately, right the first time I saw it, the day Alicia took it when we were having a barbecue for Jake’s 28th birthday in January.

It was a sweet day, I remember it all too well. Alicia had just gotten her hands on a camera and ended up taking hundreds of snapshots. A few minutes after we posed for this photo, I strolled over to Jake, who was working the grill very professionally.

“Need a hand?” I remember I asked him, taking in the familiar barbecue scent of the smoke steaming from the grill as I checked on the steaks.

“I sure hope this isn’t your way of letting me know I’m taking too long,” Jake replied jokingly.

“Touché,” I grimaced with a smirk.

Jake chuckled good-naturedly. “Sorry, but I can’t rush things today.” He looked up to nod towards Alicia. “Cause I fear my success or failure here will end up being documented and delivered to posterity...”

Chuckling merrily, I shrugged. “That might very well be true...”

Back at the house, Alicia was just in the middle of taking a picture of Mom and Troy setting the garden table.

“She’s actually pretty good at this, though,” I pointed out after a while. “Took one of Troy and me just now and it turned out really well.” Looking back at him. “I mean, speaking of birthdays, I thought it might be a nice present for Troy’s, in case I haven’t already missed it.”

“Sounds like a good idea, and no, you haven’t,” Jake reassured me with a smile. “His birthday is on April, 19th.”

“April 19th, huh?” I repeated, until suddenly another thought crossed my mind. “And what year?”

He looked up at me with a shrug. “Well, _this_ year, of course...”

At that, I shot him a reproachful look that just got him to chuckle.

“Very funny,” I commented, shaking my head. “Makes me feel like an idiot. I don’t even know how old my own boyfriend is...”

Jake gave me a good-natured smile. “Well, he was born in 1986. Now do the math.”

“Twenty-four?” I mumbled after a while, blinking at Jake. “Wow, I _was_ aware we had an age difference, but I would have guessed it was smaller. Two years, maybe. But four years?”

“Four years is nothing,” Jake countered with a shrug. “I mean, look at Alicia and me. We’re nine years apart and we work perfectly.”

Well, no arguing that!

“For example I’m ace at predicting her behavior,” he added, grinning as Alicia was just coming over to  us with the camera. “Told you my work would be documented.”

And right at that moment, the camera flashed at us. “Cheese, guys!” she called, and we grinned, as she released the shutter once more.

Yeah, so that was the day I found out about Troy’s birthday and got my hands on the perfect present for that occasion as well at the same time. Maybe in a way it was also a gift to myself, since looking at it always makes me so happy, just as much as him.

Carefully, I put the frame back on the nightstand, then turn to the wall opposite the door, stepping to the window. The view is pretty nice from up here since the house is located on the hillside and Troy’s window’s facing the ranch. I can even spot the cottage on the other side of the valley.

Next to the window, we have the huge trunk that contains Troy’s surprisingly impressive stock of shirts and flannels as well as other clothes, including a separate shelf for his fatigues.

And finally, at the wall opposite the bed we have his desk with a pretty old looking wooden chair as well as several shelves that cover most of the remaining wall.

I’ve always considered it a bit tragic, the fact that he has this huge world map hanging right over his desk – so kid and teenage Troy, whose entire world had always been limited to this one place, was always gazing at a much bigger world every time he sat here at the desk. I wonder if that paradox ever stroke him as sad. Maybe not. After all, he never felt confined here at the ranch, not even realizing all the things he might be missing out on in a world that to him was never more than a map on a sheet of paper.

_Let me take a look at your shelf and I’ll tell you what kind of person you are._ That’s what they say, isn’t it? Definitely counts for Troy as well. The first thing meeting the eyes when looking at his shelves  is the fact that he doesn’t own a lot of fiction. Next to none, actually. There is however quite a number of specialized books on local animals or plants as well as several survival guides.

The largest part of the shelves is indeed occupied by books, but a very different kind of books: his notebooks. Dozens of them. I’ve always wondered what exactly is the deal with Troy and his notebooks. The most current one he always carries with him.

Of course, I’m aware he uses them to document observations on his research on the dead, times he took for example, but I’ve also seen him take notes on many, many other occasions, everyday occasions, so I’ve come to believe they’re actually more of a diary to him. In that case, I’d sure love to flip through them sometime to find out if they include anything on me – and if so, what exactly it is. But then again, this is Troy Otto we’re talking about, and we all know what kind of dark and weird stuff he used to spend his days on in the past. So yeah. Prooobably better leave them alone…

Speaking of weird, we also have several small bones and even a little animal skull on the shelf, apparently from a little gnawer like a mouse or a ferret (I sure hope this wasn’t in truth his pet hamster or something…). Knowing Troy, I’m aware this is part of his interest in biology and nature, a bit less creepily illustrated by the many exotic stones, petrified snail shells and jars with different types of soil he keeps on the very same shelf.

The only thing that does surprise me in the end is a small collection of entertainment media I unexpectedly encounter at the bottom shelf. Troy Otto actually owns movies, who would have guessed? They’re 90s movies altogether, and still on video cassette, so I’d assume they’re still from a time he went to school, movies he watched as a kid to be at least somewhat up to date and equipped to discuss the current pop culture with his classmates.

“See anything you like?”

Without me realizing it, Troy has returned – already dressed in his fatigues, ready to leave for his patrol shift, the hair however still slightly damp from the shower.

“Now that you’re here?” I reply quick-wittedly, winking at him with a flirty look.

He rewards me with a merry smile.

Still crouching in front of the shelf, I look up at him. “I was just admiring your extensive movie collection,” I explain sarcastically. “I take it you’re not really the most enthusiastic movie buff?”

Dropping his towel in the laundry basket, he shrugs. “Well, I did have more movies in the past,” he admits slowly. “Threw them all away a few years ago. Only kept the ones I liked best.”

Liked best? Oh, wow, that changes everything! Now my interest is piqued, and I immediately turn my head back to the movies once more. I didn’t pay that much attention to them before, assuming it was just a random selection – just whatever the kids used to watch back then –, but knowing that this is actually a selection according to his preferences...?!

So what do we have here after all? Back to the Future 1 and 2, Jurassic Park, nice, Space Jam (haha, how cute), the Sixth Sense, Independence Day...

“Oh, and Jumanji!” I burst out laughing. “I used to love that when I was a kid! Our teacher showed it to us in fourth grade on the last day before summer vacation. I bugged my mom all the time until she got me the video cassette and I’ve watched it like a dozen times.” Smiling softly as I think back to those days. “I always wanted to have a game like that, too...”

Shooting me a skeptical look, Troy grins. “One that sucks you in and keeps you prisoner in the jungle for twenty years and sends bat-sized killer wasps with deadly poison after you?” he verifies.

“Well, the pieces could move on their own and it was able to display messages,” I deadpan, and we both chuckle good-naturedly.

“It’s been ages and I don’t remember much else from the movie,” I confess, shrugging, as all of a sudden another thought crosses my mind. “Hey, you know what?” Getting up from the floor. “We should totally do a movie night soon! Would be so much fun to indulge in those memories and do something normal for a change.”

He laughs at that, then smiles. “Well, why not? Got any plans tonight?”

 

***

 

Time flies when you’re having fun – but much less so when you’re _looking forward_ to having fun… At least that’s how I feel all day waiting for the hours to sluggishly pass by, and every minute gone feels like an extra minute on top until finally the last seconds of my evening shift tick off.

Excitedly, I rush home immediately to change and grab a few bottles of coke, just like I’d promised, then hurry right on to Troy’s place. It’s shortly after eight when I finally knock on his door.

He greets me with a smile, inviting me in, but only once the door is closed, I’m actually getting my proper greeting, a sweet, happy kiss.

Since Troy had been assigned to a different shift, he’s already been home for a while, having apparently already taken care of a few preparations for our movie night.

Following him into the kitchen, I immediately notice two steaming mugs on the counter next to the fridge.

“Oh,” I chuckle fondly, “and you even thought of our mandatory hot chocolate...”

“This isn’t hot chocolate,” Troy shrugs, tearing open a package of chips and pouring it into a huge light blue plastic bowl. “It’s regular coffee. We have a long night ahead of us, after all, right?” He grins at me over his shoulder, then tucks two of my coke bottles under his arm and beckons me to follow him upstairs. “Can you bring the mugs?”

“Course,” I reply, walking carefully not to spill any coffee. “And good thinking. With coke and coffee… What could go wrong?”

The old wooden steps creak underneath our shoes as we climb the stairs to the first floor.

Troy leads me to the “video room”, as they used to call it. It’s basically a sort of study, brimming with shelves and books, a sofa and a TV with several playback devices, a DVD player and an older video recorder. I immediately notice a few copies of Jeremiah’s dreadful TEOTWAWKI promotion videos Mom has told me about in one of the shelves, but quickly look away.

Putting the chips down on the coffee table, Troy turns to the couch. “This can actually be extended,” he tells me, starting to pull at the front. “That way, you can turn it into a spare bed for guests. Thought that might be more comfortable.”

“Oh, definitely,” I reply with a wink, setting the mugs down as well to give him a hand.

And already a few minutes later, our final preparations are done and the first production logos start rolling across the screen.

It’s a familiar feeling of excitement and expectation this evokes inside me, just like in old times whenever a movie is about to start, so with a happy smile on my face, I let myself indulge in this blissful illusion of normalcy, as if the world hadn’t ended, as if we were just an ordinary couple watching ordinary movies on an ordinary night. Maybe for this night, we actually can be.

Well equipped with pillows and blankets, we snuggle against each other, the huge bowl of chips between us, and I take a sip of my coffee, as our first movie opens with a gloomy flashback scene.

We’ve decided on Jumanji to start with, naturally, since aside from the general storyline neither one of us remembers much of it. And indeed, the first long forgotten detail awaits us right at the beginning.

“Oh, the drums, of course!” Troy snorts with a snicker. “They used to give me the creeps when I was a kid. I’m pretty sure they even followed me into one or two nightmares…”

“Aww…” I reply, reaching over to him to ruffle his hair with mock-empathy. “No need to be scared, honey. I’ll protect you.”

He shoots me a sarcastic look at that, but is happy to comply anyway as I lean in to him to steal a kiss.

About twenty minutes later, I’m the one to startle as eventually a new siblings duo enters the stage. “No way!” I call immediately, blinking. “Is that Kirsten Dunst as a kid?!” Starting to laugh so hard.

“Who now?” Troy frowns, looking at me, confused.

“Kirsten Dunst, the actress,” I explain. “Spiderman? MJ? No?”

His movie phase must have already been over by then.

“My God, she was my first crush when I was like twelve or something!” I reminisce.

“Really?” Troy shoots me a look. “She doesn’t seem like your type at all.”

“My type?” I blink at him at first, then quickly roll my eyes. “Oh, yeah, right, _Latina._ How could I forget?”

Chuckling merrily, Troy shakes his head and to my surprise points at himself. “Guess again.”

Snorting fondly, I give him a gentle clap on the head. “And in truth I’m all for gingers...” With a pleased grin, I turn my attention back to the movie.

It’s funny, I never realized I actually knew Kirsten Dunst way before I fell for her in Spiderman… And even though her face hasn’t changed at all over the years. It looks exactly the way I remember it, even though she’s still a child here. Sighing softly, as I’m reminded of my teenage days. “Oh, Kirsten…” Then growing a little melancholic. “I wonder if she’s made it somehow. Probably not…”

“Who knows,” Troy replies with a shrug, crunching a few chips. “That’s the thing about the apocalypse, it makes all men equal. Whether you used to be a celebrity or a nobody, everyone needs to fend for their lives now all the same.”

Yeah, I know he’s right. And yet. I hope she’s still out there somewhere, somehow. Alive and alright, with that eternal, beautiful face.

So aside from recognizing long forgotten child actors, watching a movie from your teenage days with adult eyes, it’s actually pretty entertaining. You think you got the movie as a kid, but truth is, there’s just so much you’ve missed. So many details you never even noticed, so many connections you never managed to make.

So naturally, Troy and I both hoot and holler in disbelief as the characters suddenly walk by a sex shop in the background –  blink it, and you’ll miss it. And of course we’re laughing so hard at an unexpected Clue reference Robin William makes, thinking right back to our own game session at Christmas Eve.

So all in all, we’re perfectly entertained, and once the credits roll, we’re not wasting any time to put in the next video cassette. “Back to the Future” it is, a movie which Troy seems particularly fond of.

“Yeah, it would be nice indeed,” I sigh a bit melancholically once Marty McFly jumps into the Delorean to escape from the Libyan terrorists and finds himself back in 1955, “if you could actually travel back in time like that and change the past...” Shrugging. “We could make the apocalypse undone.” Remembering only once I said it that Troy’s actually quite happy with the course our world has taken, so he probably wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Unexpectedly however, he chuckles softly nevertheless. “Well, we don’t actually know what caused the apocalypse,” he shrugs good-naturedly, “so we wouldn’t really know what to do to prevent it, even if we could. Besides,” shooting me a bittersweet look, “it would also mean that you and I are never gonna meet, and as far as I’m concerned, I’d take any apocalypse over that.”

“Aw…” I smile at Troy fondly, finding it very charming how he made this about us instead of just repeating how much he loves the New World. “Well, who knows,” I muse encouragingly, shooting him a grin. “It’s not _totally_ impossible we would have met in the Old World.”

He gives me a disbelieving chuckle at that. “There’s still quite a stretch from totally impossible to even just remotely likely.”

“Well, we were at least living in the same state,” I point out. “That’s something for a start.”

“And still,” he insists. “How?”

“Well,” I take a deep breath, thinking of something. “Maybe in some Delorean-changed, zombie-free, happy version of the future, I would have reached out to my dad and he wouldn’t have crashed his car on the highway. I wouldn’t have had a relapse, but started working in his company instead once I was done with high school. And then one day, we’d have a client in San Diego, but I forgot to bring all the tools we need. So I’d rush into the next best hardware store, and as fate would have it, it’s exactly where you and Coop and Jimmy are stocking up on supplies for the ranch. And in one fateful moment, you and I would reach simultaneously for the only toolbox left in stock... And our eyes would meet and I’d just look at you and think, ‘ _Wow..._ ’”

He’s by now laughing so hard at this fantasy of mine, but in his eyes I can see he’s deeply touched by it nevertheless, so I don’t complain.

“And what happens next?” he wants to know, eyes shining with amusement. “I mean, you can’t stop _there_. This is where the fun part begins.”

“Well,” I go on, shooting him a flirty look, “I would have told you, I’d let you have the toolbox – but only if I could see you again on my lunch break.”

Chuckling, he asks, “You’d treat me to a cup of coffee?”

“To a cup of hot chocolate,” I correct him with a meaningful glance.

“Nick, the rogue,” he smirks, even though his eyes stay on me, curious. “So what would I have replied?”

“Realistically?” I ask. “Probably something along the lines of, _‘Leave me the hell alone, you freakin’ son of a bitch’_...”

“Ouch,” he grimaces, then turns away a bit sheepishly. With a guilty voice, he sighs, “Unfortunately, that does sound like me…”

His eyes are back on the screen, but somehow I get the feeling he’s not really paying attention to the movie, but instead brooding over what I just said.

“You know what,” he starts again a few moments later, voice now dark and pensive. “The tragic thing about that is: In the Old World, this very moment would have been my one chance at happiness – and I would have rejected it without thinking twice, even though it was handed to me on a silver platter.”

“But that’s just life, Troy,” I point out with a shrug. “Who knows how many golden occasions to being happy we’re presented with every day without even realizing it. Most of them we miss, naturally, simply because we have no way of knowing all the ifs and whens.”

It doesn’t seem to cheer him up much, so I reach for his arm, rubbing it encouragingly. “Sometimes we’re just lucky and end up taking one of them after all, even if only by mere chance. So I guess it means we should be especially grateful for those we did take.”

“Huh,” he replies eventually. “I guess you’re right…” Then returning my smile. “And we are.”

Humming approvingly, I grab a handful of chips, then snuggle against him even closer as I turn my attention back to the movie.

He buries his face in my hair, kisses me softly, and together we watch Marty McFly doing a much better job at fixing the past than either of us ever could.

I have to admit, I’m feeling a bit sleepy once credits start rolling over the screen for a second time, even though it’s not even midnight yet. But to my defense I have to point out that the both of us had to get up really early today for our shifts and training...

Still, it feels wrong to call it a night already, after we so boldly dubbed this our movie _night_... So we’re quick to decide on Jurassic Park, agreeing that we need a bit of adrenaline now to chase off any creeping fatigue.

At first still snacking chips and making comments like during the first two movies, we eventually end up growing quieter and quieter as the movie progresses – and to my utter disgruntlement, I’m growing aware it’s increasingly troublesome to keep my eyes open.

Troy – being the coffee fanatic he is – usually brews a very strong one. Apparently not strong enough though, since when I open my eyes the next time, I notice with shock the room around me is dark and quiet, only the white noise on the screen sending a cone of blueish light on us.

The last thing I remember is the protagonists running into the herbivorous Brachiosaurus family… God, damn it! I missed half the movie…

Disoriented, I shift, tilting my wrist towards the TV screen’s light to be able to read the time on my watch. Quarter past two. The movie has long ended.

Giving a quiet groan of disbelief, I take a look at Troy – who’s lying on his side right next to me, sleeping just as blissfully.

I notice the chips bowl between us has toppled over, but fortunately it was almost empty anyway, so at least we won’t have to spend the night in a puddle of pricking chips crumbs.

Grabbing the bowl, get it to safety on the coffee table, then blindly reach for the remote control and finally turn off the TV – and the room is plunged in total darkness.

With a long yawn, I lie back down, then my eyes dart to Troy. Not hesitating a second, I close the remaining distance between us, scooting into his arms, until my forehead’s resting against his neck, my arm leisurely over his waist.

The touch seems to wake him a little, as almost automatically he returns the embrace, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, adjusting himself to me. Then, drowsily, he murmurs something along the lines of “Ain’t asleep… Still awake… The baby dragons... just hatched...”

Technically, they’re baby dinos and not baby dragons, since we were watching Jurassic Park and not the Lord of the Rings or whatever… But I guess a subtle differentiation like that would have been too much to ask of a man that ‘ain’t asleep’ at quarter past two in the middle of the night.

I can’t help suppressing a fond snicker at that. “Just sleep on, Troy,” I whisper back softly. “We’re calling it a night.” And still smiling as I enjoy his warmth against me, I close my eyes as well to go back to sleep.

Just a real shame though we’ve ended up missing Jurassic Park of all movies… It’s such an excellent film and definitely one of my favorites.

But then again, what better excuse could there be to plan Movie Night No. 2?


	9. The Ones We Thought We’d Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez, this also ended up growing longer than I had intended, I'm sorry for that! But in the end there was just so much that needed to be adressed :) And unlike the Ofelia chapter, splitting didn't make a lot of sense...  
> So without spoiling too much, we'll be running into a familiar face this time - hope you'll enjoy the interactions!!  
> As always, thank you so much, everyone who enjoys this story, the ones giving kudos or leaving comments. You're always making my days!!

For a few blinks, the moonlight illuminates the world around us, plunging our surroundings in a gentle silver glow. Then the clouds return, covering our main source of light once more and the way ahead falls back into impenetrable darkness.

Switching on our flashlights, we take the final few steps towards our destination, our breaths almost condensing as little puffs of white – it’s an exceptionally cold night and our lungs are burning from the exhaustion of the climb just as much as the unsettling nervousness spreading in our hearts.

_Please, let it all work out smoothly._

It doesn’t take long until we’ve planted all our explosives on the entrance. Alex, holding the remote detonator in her hands, gives me a dark but determined nod.

“Troy, do you copy?” I hold the button of my radio, voice low.

For a few blinks, the only reply is static, then however the noise is interrupted by a familiar voice. “I hear you, loud and clear,” Troy answers. “What’s your status?”

Pressing the button again. “We’re in position,” I tell him quickly. “The explosives have been planted. Give the order, and we’ll get this party started.”

“Hit it,” he confirms immediately, and I’m already on and about to reply, when unexpectedly he adds something else, voice now softer and less business-like. “And be careful.”

I can’t fight the fond smile that softens my face for a moment, and with a quiet voice I reply, “You too…” Then, face hardening again, I end the conversation, back to my previous boldness, “Over and out!”

Alex and Pam are looking at me for an update, and I’m just nodding at them.

Let’s give those suckers something to remember.

Reassuring ourselves one final time that the explosives are indeed properly in place, we hastily make our way back to the metal barrel we placed in safe distance to the building earlier, ready to make our move.

“Do it,” Pam says, her pistol at the ready in any case something unexpected might happen.

Alex nods and doesn’t hesitate a second. She hits the detonator – and at the same instant, the heavy whoomph of the explosion resounds through the silence, the flaring of a fireball immediately illuminating the night, just to die down again seconds later. Smoke rises from the crumbling debris – and instead of the door that was there a mere blink ago, all that’s left now is a gaping hole.

It only takes about five seconds until the groaning of walkers reaches our ears. And there, in the pitch black of the blown up entrance: a shadow, a movement.

Slowly but surely, one by one, they start shuffling from the building, the first ones to appear carrying heavy injuries from the explosion – missing limbs, bleeding, skin sprinkled with shrapnel. They don’t care. It doesn’t affect their craving for living flesh in the slightest.

With a quick movement of my fingers, I light the match in my hands and drop it into the barrel – filled to the brim with wood and dry undergrowth, blazing up with fire in an instant.

The walkers, disoriented at first, immediately focus on the new stimuli, adjusting their course towards us, towards the fire. Through the lambent flames and black smoke emitted by them, we watch the dead heading in our direction, the petrifying eeriness of the situation getting the better of us for a second, until Alex breaks from her stupor.

“Hurry!” she urges us, and we all immediately turn around and – according to plan – hurry back to the car, shutting the doors behind us, locking ourselves inside – and immediately the crackling of the fire and tormented groans of the dead are muffled by total silence.

In the distance, a second barrel lights up – Troy’s team taking over.

Sitting there in absolute stillness, careful not to draw their attention, we watch the creepy procession of the dead pass us by, as the walkers change their course once more and start heading towards the new fire, the new stimulus, past us, further and further away from the building.

Neither of us even dares to breathe as we stay there like this in silence, horrified and mesmerized by the immediacy of such a threat right in front of our eyes as well as petrified by the glance of the occasional walker turning their heads towards us after all, piercing right into our hearts, until they lose interest again and get back to following the fire.

Even after the last walker has finally passed our truck, we stay there for several more minutes until we dare to move again. Slowly reemerging, we spot the herd heading down the slope, already about half a mile ahead, lured on by a trail of barrels lighting up one by one – until eventually they’ll reach the chasm, and the final barrel bursting into flames right at its edge will take them out of the picture for us once and for all.

“Alright, that worked well so far,” I comment, as I release the safety catch of my gun and make sure my knife is in place.

Alex checks her weapons as well, while Pam shoulders the rucksack. “Let’s hope we got most of them.”

We hurry back to the pharmacy, guns at the ready as soon as we reach the building and carefully enter through the hole our explosives had torn into the wall. Our objective is to search for strays – walkers that might still be roaming the place, maybe stuck somewhere or lurking in the darkness to come at their victims out of nowhere, make sure the place’s secure so Pam can concentrate on going through the shelves and safely bag the meds we need.

It’s dark and dusty in there, the stench of death almost making us gag, as we search the place room by room with our flashlights – but as far as we can tell, the place seems indeed abandoned.

I’m just about to head back to the others, when all of a sudden a loud noise makes me spin round, eyes focusing in shock on one of the bigger storage rooms I’d just checked – and considered clear. Could it be I actually missed a hidden walker? Or is it…

For a second I consider alerting Alex and Pam, but calling them would only reveal my presence to whoever or whatever is in there, so I decide against it. Turning off my flashlight, I approach the room silently, taking one careful step after the other, pistol at the ready.

The faint glow of the moonlight falling in through the small windows blinded by age and dust is barely enough for me to make out the vague outlines of the shelves and boxes ahead of me. One careless movement and me, the hunter, might become the hunted.

There, a rustling! At the far side of the room. Heading towards it, I hold my breath, trying to merge with the shadows as far as possible. Then I turn round the corner of the final shelf – and startle. A hooded figure is standing right there at one of the cabinets, shoving packages of medicine into their bag. A living person. A raider, just like us. _Shit!_

Immediately, I yank up the gun. “Freeze! Hands where I can see them!” I bark with a commanding tone, voice deep and threatening, both hands clutching the pistol.

The person winces hard, drops the bag immediately but otherwise does as they’re being told.

I’m not letting my guard down. “Try to pull any shit and I swear to God, I’ll blow your head off!”

“Well, I’ll be freaking damned if I didn’t know that voice,” the person suddenly says to my utter bewilderment. “Nicholas Clark…”

_I’ll be freaking damned as well…_

Then – hands still raised – the hooded figure turns around. A look of recognition, then a smirk. “Uh, short hair. Love it.”

 

***

 

All in all, our little trick to clear the place by luring all the dead away has been more than successful. Aside from two walkers that have been stuck between shelves, the entire pharmacy is clean, and so Alex’s and my job is done.

While Pam is taking her time collecting the meds we need – Alex holding her bag – I still can’t believe the coincidence of actually running into someone I know out here in the middle of nowhere. There’s so much to share, so much to talk about, so Pam and Alex insist on me staying outside to catch up with him instead of helping them loot the needed items. They’ll manage without me, they assure me.

Accepting gratefully, I quickly lead my friend outside and we sit down on the grass at the top of the slope leading down towards the chasm.

“I see you’ve made new friends,” Victor says as he lets his gaze wander over the trail of burning barrels that have led the dead to their demise. “Good to know you’re safe and not roaming the world alone – or dead, for that matter.”

Cracking a quick grin. “Well, there’s more than just the two of them,” I say, pointing down the slope where in the distance our second team is waiting by one of the barrels, their figures dark silhouettes against the fire, talking and holding their hands towards the flames to warm them.

“Your family is looking for you, Nick,” Victor tells me quickly, eyes suddenly darting back to me.  

“I know,” I reply automatically, still gazing into the distance. “They’ve already found me. We’re all together now. We’ve found a place to live, Victor, a ranch, with food and water and fences.”

“Huh,” he replies, surprised but not unhappy. “So everyone reunited? Your mom, Travis and Alicia there, too?”

I startle and hold my breath at the mention of Travis’s name. “Travis didn’t make it…” I whisper, voice shaky. “He died in an accident.”

“Oh, no…” Victor replies, genuinely shocked. “I’m so sorry to hear that… How’s Maddy holding up? It must be tough for her…”

“She’s getting by,” I tell him truthfully. “Keeping herself busy, as always. I guess she realized that the losses from the past won’t mean anything if we don’t cherish the future… So she’s giving it everything she got to make sure Alicia and I can have one worth living.” Shooting him an encouraging smile.

“And do you?” Victor replies, raising his eyebrows at me. “Do you have one worth living?”

“Yeah, I think so…” I reply, turning my eyes back to the people by the barrel. “I… uhm… I’ve actually found someone here, to be honest…” I murmur after a few moments, a fond smile now curving my lips.

“Really?” he seems surprised, but immediately happy for me. “That’s great news!”

“Yeah…” I chuckle softly, then purse my lips, suddenly excited to drop the bomb on him. “I… uhm… I have a boyfriend now.”

“A… _boyfriend_?” Victor repeats, blinking, his perplexed gaze exactly the reaction I had been hoping for.

I nod, shooting him a proud smile.

“But… well, don’t get me wrong… But I always thought you were straight,” he tells me bluntly, shaking his head.

“Why,” I reply with a teasing look, “would you have been interested?”

That cockiness gets him to laugh out immediately. “Oh, you _wish_ , boy, you wish…” Eventually he grows serious again. “No, I’m just a little surprised, Nick. I’m happy for you, but I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, I know…” I admit. “I’m surprised as well. I certainly hadn’t seen it coming. But it just happened. And now we’re like _super_ happy.”

He replies a little disbelieving, but with a supportive smile nevertheless, “So, what’s his name?”

“Troy,” I say, savoring that one syllable to the fullest.

“Troy, huh,” Victor repeats, humming approvingly. “And how long have you been together?”

“Well, more than half a year already… Time sure flies…” I reply, still surprised by this as well.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Victor whistles through his teeth, acknowledging. “So tell me about him. What’s he like, your _boy toy Troy_?”

“Oh, come on!” I groan at that, but can’t help laughing nevertheless. “Well, as luck would have it, I can actually introduce you,” I suggest quickly, suddenly excited they’re gonna meet. “He’s here with us.” Pointing at the second team. “The left one over there,” I say, pointing at Troy. “The tall one with the rifle.”

“Him?” Victor gives me a grin. “Well, you sure picked a cutie.”

Tsking at him once more.

Victor starts laughing merrily, as he knows even though I complained, I’m proud he noticed my boyfriend’s good looks. “Oh, if only I were ten years younger…” he keeps joking, until I elbow him in the rips. “He doesn’t have a brother, by any chance?”

Still laughing, I glance at him. “He actually does,” I tell him with a nod, “and it’s an _older_ brother on top of it.”

“Oh!” Victor pricks up his ears jokingly.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t dare making a move on him if I were you…” I warn him ominously. “Unless you wanna invoke the Wrath of Alicia.”

At that, his eyes widen, and he shakes his head at me in disbelief. “Don’t tell me… You’re siblings dating siblings?!”

I nod with a snicker.

“Geez…” Victor says, turning his head away in amusement. “Those Clarks… You can’t even leave them alone for just a few months…”

“Well, speaking of a few months,” I counter eventually, finally focusing my attention back on him. “How have _you_ been getting by all this time?”

“Well, I haven’t been that lucky in regards to my love life, if that’s what you’re asking,” he deadpans immediately.

Rolling my eyes fondly. “But maybe you’ve found a place as well?”

He holds my eyes strangely unfaltering at that – knowing Victor, this feels like he’s hiding something. “Ah, you know,” he eventually shrugs it off, voice vague. “Been here and there. I always find a way to make it to the next morning.”

Before I get the chance to dig a little deeper, my radio’s crackling.

“Nick?” It’s Troy’s voice. “Status report,” he demands. “Pam done yet?”

I’m just about to open my mouth to reply, when Pam’s head appears in the pharmacy entrance. “She’s done,” she confirms. “We’re ready to head home.”

 

***

 

About five minutes later, Troy’s team’s made its way back to us, rejoining us by the cars. Everyone still a bit breathless from the strenuous climb, Troy’s eyes darken immediately, as he spots the stranger among us.

“It’s fine, it’s all fine!” I call immediately, preventing a possible harsh reaction from Troy’s side, like him pulling his gun at Victor. And just to be on the safe side, I add with a firm voice “He’s family!”, to unmistakably make it clear Victor’s under my protection – cause even though I love Troy and I’ve seen all the good inside of him, I still wouldn’t trust on his deeply rooted racism already being cured entirely.

“Family?” Troy repeats with a frown, pace slowing down as he finally reaches us.

I nod. “We ran into each other just now, inside the pharmacy... He’s one of the people who fled with us from L. A., and the very reason I even made it this far.” Pointing at Victor. “Troy, this is Victor Strand. Victor, Troy Otto. His dad founded the ranch I told you about.”

“Good to know you, Troy,” Victor replies politely, extending his hand to Troy, and only the people who know him closer can sense his underlying wariness.

“Yeah, good to know you, too,” Troy replies, accepting his hand – whew! The first major obstacle has been taken. “What were you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“Same as you, looking for meds,” Victor replies quickly. “Couldn’t believe my eyes when I ran into Nick inside.”

“What a coincidence, right?!” I chip in immediately, trying to ease the tension some more. “I mean we could have come here any night!”

“Yeah, fancy that,” Troy replies off-handedly. “Well, we should get going. Still got a long ride ahead of us.”

He’s already about to turn away, when I stop him.

“Well, Victor would like to see Mom and Alicia as well, of course,” I point out. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem if he joins us at the ranch for a few days.”

Troy turns back to us, expression unreadable, even for me. “Well, usually we don’t accept strangers at the ranch…” he starts, and my face immediately starts to fall. Gosh, boy, why are you making this harder than it has to be?

“…But as Nick’s friend, you’re of course not a stranger,” Troy concludes and – since he hasn’t even taken a glance at me yet to spot my disgruntled expression – I credit him for getting his act together on his own last second.

“Exactly,” I reply, not without shooting Troy a warning glance nevertheless. Then, turning to Victor more friendly, I lead him towards the cars. “They’re gonna be so thrilled to see you.”

 

We’ve taken this trip with two pickups, so Victor joins Troy and me on the loading area of the second truck as we start heading back home.

It’s mostly me talking about our new home and how Mom and Alicia are doing – with the chilly wind constantly ruffling through our hair. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Victor stays suspiciously vague about any further inquiries from my side on how he’s been doing ever since our paths separated. But I’m just so incredibly happy to be reunited with him, I don’t wanna spoil that joy by digging too deep. After all, this is the apocalypse – his secretiveness might very well have a sad or even tragic reason.

Troy starts thawing a little once the trucks approach the ranch and Victor shows himself incredibly impressed by what we’ve built here at the ranch, admiring us for how great a job the militia is apparently doing keeping it safe (“With supplies like that, I’m sure there are quite a few people who would love to get their hands on this! You must be having foes at your throat all the time…”) – and remarks like these are of course pure music to Troy’s ears.

“So how did you say the two of you met?” Troy asks, once we’ve gotten off the truck and started helping Pam carry the supplies to the infirmary.

“Weeeell,” I shrug, shooting Victor a look. “That’s actually a long story… It was at a military hospital, when we were trying to get outta L. A.” Then smirking. “I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for him. This guy’s saved my life like a thousand times.”

“It’s a mutual thing,” Victor insists with a nod, reminding me of the one or two walker confrontations I’d actually been useful for a change.

“And still,” I counter eventually with a grin. “There’s quite the misbalance here.” Turning to Troy. “He basically saved _all_ our lives when he invited us on the Abigail.”

We unload the meds inside the storage room, then head back outside into the cool, starlit night.

“Oh, so that famous boat I’ve been hearing so much about,” Troy turns to Victor, impressed, “that was yours?”

“My boyfriend’s actually,” Victor replies with a shrug, and inwardly I cheer with glee at this sudden revelation, mentally giving him both thumbs up. Very nice move, Victor! I’ve been hoping there’d be an occasion to let Troy know about this, but the fact that Victor managed to let that little detail slip in in such an elegant and effectual way… Great job, my friend!

The look on Troy’s face is priceless indeed, for a blink at least. Then he’s immediately back to his usual, nonchalant demeanor. “Ah,” is all he replies to that, neutrally. “I’m surprised it didn’t work out in the end, though,” he adds then, not reacting to the boyfriend thing any further. “I couldn’t imagine anyplace safer than a boat on the ocean.”

“Well, the thing is, you can’t stay on the ocean forever,” Victor points out. “You need supplies, and components may break and need to be fixed. So you’re forced to go ashore again sooner or later.” Shrugging. “And in the end, the biggest threat in the New World isn’t walkers, but people.”

“Yeah, it can’t be helped,” I chip in quickly, determined to get the conversation back to the boyfriend topic and dwell on it some more. “In the end, maybe it didn’t matter that much, since Thomas – Victor’s boyfriend – was actually kind enough to let us stay at his place for a while,” I point out. “Meant the world to us, since it gave us a little breather to actually realize and accept what was going on in the world around us.”

“And yet, that didn’t work out either,” Troy reminds me, once again not addressing the boyfriend thing in the slightest.

“Sadly, no,” Victor admits, then points across the ranch. “But three times is a charm, no? So I really hope at least this one will work out for you. Your ranch seems like a great place.”

“We’re doing our best…” Troy replies quietly, apparently torn between being flattered and keeping his distance.

“Well, it better does!” I comment eventually. “After all the work I put into this…” Answering Victor’s questioning glance, I explain. “See that little cottage over there on the hillside?” Pointing across the ranch. “Burnt down in a fire, and I rebuilt it from scratch.”

“Really?” Victor shoots me a look. “I’ll have to check it out, then.”

“Well, how about we have dinner at my place, tomorrow night?” I suggest. “Celebrate the lucky reunion.” Turning to Troy. “You too, of course.”

“Won’t be able to make it, sorry,” Troy replies to my utter surprise. “I’m on patrol tomorrow night.”

 _No, you’re not._ I know that, since I was actually the one who assigned the shifts. So what the hell…

“What a shame,” Victor replies and in contrast to Troy, he actually seems genuine.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll be having a great time anyway,” he just shrugs, then turns around, about to head back to the barracks. “I’ll see you around, Victor.”

“Sure,” Victor replies, frowning slightly as Troy heads off.

I look after him with narrowed eyes. Then, shooting Victor an apologetic glance, I murmur, “Just excuse me for a second.”

 

***

 

I eventually reach Troy on the open fields between the infirmary and the barracks. “What on earth, Troy?” is the first thing I say as I grab his arm to stop him. “You’re being rude to my friend!”

He turns around to face me with a displeased look. “How could you keep this from me?” he accuses me immediately.

I have no idea what’s going on. “Keep what from you?!”

He looks at me as if I was making this unnecessarily complicated. “That he’s gay.”

This takes me totally aback. “Excuse me?!” Shaking my head at him. “I’m sorry, but what did you expect me to do? Introduce him as, ‘Oh, hey, Troy, this is my gay friend Victor.’”

“Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t really feel like spending all night with some gay dude talking about our love life and discussing positions, okay?!”

Wow. Just wow. For a moment I’m so speechless I don’t even know what to reply. “Woah, Troy,” I say eventually. “You’re pretty homophobic for someone who enjoys spending his nights with another man as much as you do.”

That at least seems to catch him off-guard for once and he grows silent.

“Seriously, Troy, what world are you living in?” I go on. “Yeah, he’s gay, but you’re acting like this was his only, defining trait. No one is reducing you to your sexuality.”

I stare at him for a while, eyes full of reproach, when all of a sudden I realize that by saying this, I’ve actually stumbled across the very source of his massively over-sensitive reaction on that matter: The strong discrepancy between the prejudicial views he grew up with and his feelings for me. A tension that must have been tearing him apart for months.

Suddenly aware of that, I grow quiet. “Troy,” I start anew, much softer. “Look. Victor’s not here to stick his nose into any intimate details of our love life. Sure, if we ever had questions, we could turn to him anytime, I’m certain of that. But he would _never_ pry into our personal business.” I reach for Troy, putting my hand on his arm conciliatory.

It makes him cast down his eyes.

“He’s my friend, and I want him to know about my life,” I go on. “And an essential part of that is you. You mean the world to me, Troy. That’s why I want him to get to know you.” Shooting him a gentle look. “So please, be nice to him.”

He thinks about this for a long time, guilt mixing with his inner conflict.

“Hey,” I call him after a while, giving him an encouraging look.

“Okay,” he eventually whispers back, a bit sheepishly.

“Good,” I nod at him seriously. Then, thinking about it some more and also to lighten the mood a little, I quickly add with an ironic smirk, “Not the kind of nice we had with Ofelia, though. I don’t need that again anytime soon!”

He meets my eyes with a guilty look on his face, then eventually chuckles as well. “Alright... Then tell him we’ll have dinner at my place.”

“Your place?” I repeat with surprise.

“Yeah,” Troy growls. “Or how are you planning on cooking dinner with that little camping stove?”

I look at him for a long time, amazed once more by this odd combination of discrimination and generosity and kindness he displays, so much like his father. He’s a mystery, but as I said, he’s learning every day.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling softly.

“I’m sorry,” is what he replies in the end. “It’s just...” Sighing. “I’m not as confident as you...”

“Are you kidding me?” I reply quickly. “Troy, you’re the poster boy of confidence!” And adding under my breath, “Even in areas where you shouldn’t be...”

That gets him to chuckle softly. “Not in _every_ area, though.”

Patting his arm encouragingly, then I turn around. “Especially in that area,” I assure him, “there’s no reason for you not to be.” Holding his eyes with an honest look, I nod, then turn around to head back to the ranch.

 

***

 

So as promised, the following night Victor visits us at Troy’s, knocking at the door at the stroke of eight – the punctual man he is.

To my relief, Troy’s acting a lot more open and friendly with Victor this time, so our conversation during dinner indeed feels significantly more relaxed and comfortable.

So as soon as we’re done eating, I get a bottle of red wine and three wine glasses to toast to the lucky occasion of our reunion.

Victor takes the bottle into his hands, inspecting the label as if it still mattered what kind of wine we drank – or even just was within our power what kind of wine we ran into during our raids for that matter. Apparently, he’s pleased with it though, since once I’m back with the wine glasses, Victor has already opened it, starting to fill them with a quiet smile.

“Oh, no, not for me, thanks,” Troy chips in quickly as Victor’s just about to fill the third one. “I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” Victor replies with surprise, putting the bottle back down.

Ah damn it, the juice! I knew I’d forgotten something! “Ah, sorry, Troy,” I say, turning to my boyfriend. “I forgot to get the juice.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it,” he says, putting his hand on my shoulder reassuringly as he gets up from his chair, heading for the basement stairs.

“Yeah, so, Troy doesn’t drink,” I explain to Victor once Troy’s gone. “He always takes cherry juice instead whenever we’re having a toast.”

To me, this already feels so normal since I’ve gotten so used to it. To Victor however is seems strange.

“Nick Clark is with a person who doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t blaze...”

I shrug. “Yeah, he’s such a monk at times.”

Taking a breath through his teeth, Victor leans back in amusement. “Must be true love, then…”

I can’t help chuckling, never really having looked at it that way. “It is,” I confirm with a happy smile.

I feel Victor’s eyes on me as I think about it with a dreamy expression, observing me amusedly. “Or you just haven’t corrupted him enough yet,” he suggests eventually, giving me a quick laugh.

“Trust me, I’m working on it,” I reply with an ominous smirk, then however get serious again. “Honestly though, his parents were both pretty heavy drinkers...” Shrugging with a sad expression. “His mom died of an alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh...” Victor replies, now understanding the reason for Troy’s abstinence.

“So yeah, it’s okay. I don’t push him on this,” I conclude eventually, just in time as I hear Troy’s footsteps on the stairs.

We’ve waited for him of course, so once we’re all back at the table and Troy’s got his juice ready as well, we raise our glasses.

“To lucky reunions,” I propose, shooting Victor a grin, who returns it and adds with a nod to Troy and me: “And to young love and this adorable couple. May you be happy with each other till the end of the–“ Suddenly pausing as he notices the little mistake here. Frowning, he thinks about it for a moment, then with a shrug he corrects himself, “Till the end of the end of the world!”

We all laugh at that merrily as we clink our glasses and take a few sips.

 

“So,” Victor says eventually, putting his glass down and shooting us a curious look. “Speaking of adorable couples, now I really wanna hear the sweet story of how this one got together. How did you fall in love?”

“Oh!” is all I can reply to that at first, shooting Troy a helpless look.

Well, Victor. It all started when Troy took us captive, intending to kill us and experiment on our dead bodies. And after that, I grabbed a gun and shot his dad. He nearly choked me, and then I pretended to be in love with him to force my will on him. And then we had sex. So yeah, your typical fairytale!

“Well, I guess it all started when we were faced with a life and death situation here on the ranch,” Troy starts explaining instead and I immediately find myself staring at him wide-eyed, torn between being speechless and thrilled at the same time on how on earth he’s planning to present this in a good light.

“We were both caught in a heated discussion,” Troy goes on. “Either choice we were facing could mean keeping our loved ones safe or dooming them to a cruel death – and we were so at a loss... The emotions were boiling up, and I guess we just suddenly realized there might actually be even more at stake for us to lose, so... all of a sudden, Nick just kissed me.”

“Aw,” Victor comments, endeared.

I give a quick helpless laugh as suddenly all eyes are on me, since yeah, this is _sort of_ what happened, but still... quite a stretch from the truth.

“But I guess we only really got together some time later. The kiss on the watchtower, I’d say?” He turns to me for confirmation.

“Yeah, that’s also the moment I’d pick,” I agree, still speechless at this version he presents so casually, grateful he left out all the shit in between, and touched at the same time that apparently this one moment I’ll forever cherish in my heart meant as much to him as it did to me. We never talked about that before...

“Kiss on the watchtower?” Victor repeats curiously. “Sounds romantic!”

“Yeah, so this life and death situation I was talking about, was actually the ranch running low on water,” Troy goes on. “We managed to find a new source, but our people were taken captive by raiders when they returned with the water.”

“Among them Mom and Alicia,” I add, realizing just now he refrained from actually naming our new water source. Smart, since the survival of the ranch depends on this staying a secret. “I was going crazy with worry...” I go on, retelling the story. “But Troy was there for me in my darkest hour,” I say, shooting Troy a look that still encompasses all the gratitude I feel for this one night, the night I truly fell in love with him.

“How sweet,” Victor comments once more, making it obvious he’s already a big fan of our story.

Troy smiles at me softly, knowing exactly what this night had meant to me... And probably also to him, since after all, he was the one to reawaken the caring boy inside of him.

“So in the end we managed to save everyone, and to celebrate this, we had a little festival here at the ranch,” Troy concludes.

“And Troy and me, we were at the top of one of the watchtowers, under us the lights of the lampions and the music,” I go on.

“Right, it was Alex singing, wasn’t it?” Troy looks at me. “Even though I don’t remember the song.”

“It was _Livin’ on a Prayer_ , by Bon Jovi,” I point out, remembering that moment as if it’d been yesterday.

“Right!” Troy snaps his fingers. “It was! With Liam playing the guitar.”

“Sounds so romantic! And that was the moment when you shared your big get-together kiss?” Victor wants to know.

I nod. “Yeah, the mood was just perfect...” It’s incredible. Putting it that way – and it’s not like anything about this version was wrong or made up – I suddenly realize our get together was sweet after all, a lot sweeter than I had realized by only looking at the cold, hard facts.

My eyes are shining as I look back to Troy, who’s gazing at me with a blissful smile, both lost in the memory of that magical moment.

I only realize we must have been like this for a while, when eventually Victor clears his throat.

“I’d say we drink to this again,” he suggests eventually, raising his glass.

A bit embarrassed we actually lost ourselves in that memory like that for a moment, we’re quick to raise our glasses as well, glad to have something to hide our dorky grins behind.

 

“Speaking of water supplies,” Victor eventually says, face suddenly stern and serious. “You’ve been asking how I’ve been getting by those past few months, Nick – and I have to admit I haven’t given you the full disclosure yet.”

“Okay?” I reply, a bit perplexed.

“Actually... I did find a place,” Victor confesses after a few moments. “And there, we do have lots and lots of water.”

Troy and I are both pricking up our ears instantly.

“It’s a huge dam, about two days on the road from here,” he tells us. “If you’re still in need of water, maybe I could negotiate a trade for you.” And adding, “I’m actually pretty close with the people in charge there... Especially since...” He casts his eyes down and purses his lips hesitantly, then all of a sudden, his eyes lock back to mine. “Nick, I know this may be hard to believe, but... _Daniel is alive_. He’s alive and he’s at the dam.”

“Daniel?!” I repeat, speechless. Victor can’t be serious.

“Daniel?” Troy now asks as well, blinking at us both.

“Ofelia’s dad,” I inform him half-heartedly.

It only confuses Troy. “But didn’t you say she lost her parents?”

“She did!” I insist, turning my head back to Strand now. “He burnt to death in a fire!”

“Wait,” Victor just replies, pointing at Troy. “How come you know of Ofelia? Did Nick tell you about her?”

“I don’t just know _of Ofelia_ ,” Troy corrects. “I _know her_. She’s our friend.”

“She’s here, Victor,” I point out.

“Here?!” Victor almost jumps to his feet. “No way in hell! Here at the ranch?!”

“At an allied community close by,” I specify. “But we can talk to her. If this is true, she needs to know.”

“Yeah, she does...” Victor nods, rubbing his face with his hands in disbelief for a second. “This is actually the reason I’ve been out here... Daniel sent me to search for Ofelia. I need to see her!”

For a few moments, I don’t reply. If he didn’t keep on acting like this was some kind of emergency, I’d still believe it was nothing but a weird, crude joke. “You can’t be for real!” I point out once more, shaking my head. “He burned to death, Victor! We saw it with our own eyes.”

“Have we, Nick?” Victor counters, eying me intensely. “Have we actually seen it happen?”

“No, but...” I go on, suddenly dumbfounded. “No one could have survived this.”

“He did, apparently,” Victor shakes his head. “I’m serious, kid. When it comes to staying alive, that guy’s more persistent than Jesus and the Bee Gees!”

Snorting at that. “Well, I don’t believe in people rising from the dead.”

“And yet, in a wicked way, this is happening all around us,” Victor replies. “We believe in zombies now.”

“Well,” Troy chips in, “it’s hard not to believe in something that lies on top of you and tries to bite you in the face.”

Victor points at Troy, like he’s made a point, then turns back to me. “It’s also hard not to believe in something that holds a gun to your head and threatens to shoot you if you don’t bring their daughter back to them.”

For a few more blinks, I keep looking at Victor, then put my elbows on the table, burying my face in my hands. “Jesus Christ...” Then I take a deep sigh. “I need more wine.”

 

***

 

As unbelievable as it sounds, once I actually managed to wrap my head around it, I’m happy and worried for Ofelia at the same time. That revelation almost swept me off my feet, and Daniel was just an acquaintance. With Ofelia, we’re talking about her dad, whom she mourned and missed and came to terms with all the regrets she may have had about her relationship with him. A bit like with me and my dad actually, and just the mere thought that someone might pop up out of nowhere and tell me he was still alive makes my head spin. So poor Ofelia, we’re gonna drop this bomb on her.

Then at the same time, her dad, whom she mourned and missed, is still alive – what an incredible luck!

She needs to know. She needs to know right away. I’m aware of that.

So not even twenty minutes later, we actually find ourselves in the truck and on our way to Black Hat Reservation, intending on shaking and mending her world at the same time. (Also an advantage of Troy’s alcohol abstinence: You always got your designated driver.)

It’s already way past midnight once we reach Walker’s territory and a bunch of armed guards make us stop and get out of the car immediately, forcing us to wait for their leader.

“What is this, a surprise visit in the middle of the night?” Walker asks, once he approaches us with a dark look. He seems wary, annoyed even at the nocturnal interruption, but keeps his calm and aloof demeanor nevertheless.

“We need to see Ofelia, Walker,” Troy tells him. “It’s urgent.”

“Who are these men?” Walker wants to know instead, nodding at Victor and me.

The irony of that question strikes me only now. _I’m the one who killed Jeremiah Otto for you, you son of a bitch! And you don’t even know who I am._ “You know my mom, Walker,” I say, as neutrally as possible. “Madison Clark.”

His eyes focus on me, as I say this. “So you’re the boy who almost died of the anthrax.”

“I’m _one of_ the boys,” I correct him, darkly.

“And my name is Victor Strand,” Victor adds. “We’re both friends of Ofelia’s. During the apocalypse, we all stuck together running from L.A. We have an important message for her.”

Walker narrows his eyes, turning back to Troy. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of malicious trick? Who assures me they’re trustworthy?”

“I guess that’s for Ofelia to decide,” Troy shrugs, holding Walker’s eyes defiantly. “Tell her Nick and Victor are here to see her.”

 

I was right of course when I predicted Ofelia’s world would shatter. Just a few minutes later, we’re all sitting in a booth in the former diner: Walker and Ofelia on the one side of the table, Troy, Victor and me opposite them.

For a long while, Ofelia just sits there with an unreadable expression while Victor goes on and on to her for like five minutes.

Troy and I are both staring at the tabletop in silence while Walker’s frown and worried expression deepens with every second.

“I need to see him,” Ofelia eventually says, sounding a lot less thrilled and overjoyed than I’d expected.

The overjoyed reaction instead ends up coming from Victor. “That’s great, Ofelia, absolutely great,” he nods at her encouragingly. “I can bring you to him. He wants to see you so badly.”

“Me, too,” Ofelia counters, her troubled voice however not matching her answer at all.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” I chip in all of a sudden, surprising myself.

“That’s not it,” Ofelia counters, eyes distant. “I do want to see him, of course. It’s just...” She turns her head to look at Walker. “When he died, the regrets stayed alive of course, but the possibilities to do anything about them had died with him. Now... Facing him means having to face those possibilities.”

Walker looks at her for a long time, then takes her hand. “Facing your regrets one way or another is the only way to get rid of their burden. You’ve been given the incredible chance to do so, Ofelia.” And even though it’s obvious it pains him to say this, he nods at her. “You need to go.”

 

***

 

“What a crazy couple of days,” I sigh eventually, as we hit the road to head back to the ranch. It’s just Troy and me now – Victor decided to stay behind, answering Ofelia’s many questions, planning the trip to the dam together with her. “Meeting old friends,” I point out, “then finding out people I thought were dead are actually alive... And now saying goodbye again to not only Victor, but Ofelia as well... It’s just crazy...”

“Yeah, and all of that just because of you running into each other by pure chance,” Troy adds, hands on the steering wheel.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “But with Daniel at this dam...” I muse eventually, “maybe Victor does have a point. Maybe this would indeed be an easy way for us to get water, one less tedious than the supply runs to our water pump.”

“Maybe,” Troy replies, however not sounding very convinced. “Or maybe not. I mean, yeah, it’s tedious and always such a long trip, but it’s safe and it’s our own. Who knows what’s actually going on at that dam, and I wouldn’t want to be drawn into a conflict that’s not even our own.”

I think about his words for a while, then hum. “You’re right. We should stick to our own ways.”

I lean back in my seat as we cross the nightly landscape, accidentally spotting a few lonely walkers roaming the desert here and there.

“You know, I actually feel kinda sorry for Walker,” Troy eventually breaks the silence unexpectedly.

“You?” I repeat, raising my eyebrows at him. “Sorry for Walker? Should I take your temperature?”

“Funny,” Troy snorts, then sighs with a shrug, eyes fixed on the road. “It’s just…  Until now, everything must have been in perfect order to him, and then, all of a sudden, someone appears out of nowhere, and the person he loves has to leave on a trip to God knows where with God knows what outcome... That’s horrible...” Now he’s shooting me a quick glance from the side after all. “If that happened to me...”

“Well, for one it’s not like they broke up or something,” I reply with a shrug. “She’ll return to him. And secondly, don’t worry,” I reassure him easily. “For better or worse, I’m pretty sure there’s no actual danger of any long-lost family members of mine magically coming back to life.” Grinning at him. “So I’m pretty sure there’s no immediate threat to me sticking around.”

“I would go with you, you know,” he states abruptly, without looking at me.

The suddenness and determination he says this with renders me speechless for a second.

“Anywhere,” he insists.

I gaze at him for a while as a pleasant warmth fills my heart, and I feel an appreciating smile on my lips. “That’s sweet of you,” I tell him eventually, “but I would never demand that from you. You love the ranch.”

“Yeah, but…” Another glance and our eyes meet – and he doesn’t need any words to finish his sentence.

_But I love you more._

I turn away. “Pull over,” I tell him immediately.

He seems confused. “Pull over? Did you forget anything?” And adding a bit pouting, “I was having a moment here, by the way...”

“Just pull over,” I insist, and with a sigh he complies.

“Alright?” he says, letting go of the steering wheel once the car has come to a halt. “So?”

I got my hand on his cheek in the blink of an eye, pulling him towards me and catching his lips in a long, loving kiss.

The confusion in his eyes is long gone once we break away.

“Okay,” I say eventually, crossing my arms before my chest nonchalantly, leaning back into the passenger seat with a smug smile. “Now you can drive on.”

He chuckles at that, then shifts on his seat. Before I even realize what’s going on, suddenly it’s me, the one being pulled into a kiss, and this time it’s a passionate, heartfelt and savoring one.

“ _Now_ I can drive on,” he closes eventually, grinning contentedly as he steers the car back on the road.

I’m just sitting there on the passenger seat, smiling happily. “Alright then, let’s see to it we’re finally getting home.”

At that, he shoots me an appreciating look. “Yeah,” he nods. “Home.”


	10. Apocalyptic Minigolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so thank you everyone for your sweet comments and the kudos for the last chapter! Each one of them made me so happy, so thank you very much!  
> So, back for a new chapter! And I have to say it in advance, this one's a bit different from the usual ones - beware of a little more violence, gore, hotness, crazyness and creepyness than usual ;)  
> I figured the way I write Nick and Troy, they may actually be a little too "good" and tame compared to their canon selves with the show. So here's my take on making up for this, at least for one chapter ;)  
> So yeah, it’s our boys acting a bit crazy here, so don’t expect the most politically correct behavior towards walkers ;)

“I’m seriously starting to lose count here,” Troy informs me as he gets ready for yet another stroke.

“Fourth try,” I reply easily, immediately correcting myself to “Fifth!”, as his ball bounces out of bounds once more.

With a sigh, Troy shuffles after it to retrieve it, like a dog playing fetch, just significantly less enthusiastic.

“I could watch you do this all day,” I tell him dreamily, secretly relieved I’m already done with this hole myself and therefore able to sit back leisurely now, while he struggles to beat it.

“Well, at this rate,” he shoots me a grin as he returns with the ball, bending over deep (well, _hello_ _there!_ ) to place it on the tee once more, “you may very well have to.”

You may actually be wondering what we’re doing here. The answer’s simple: playing minigolf.

Turns out Troy’s never tried it before (surprise, surprise…), so when we were passing by an abandoned minigolf course on our way back home from a supply run, there was simply no way we couldn’t stop for a quick round.

The “quick” is a bit debatable though, since Troy’s not about to win the minigolf world championship any time soon, but we’re having a good time and in the end that’s all that matters, right?

Well, at least _I’m_ having a good time at the moment. Troy supposedly less so as he struggles to get his ball at least somewhere near the hole of lane seven.

Lane seven, an especially tricky one, is basically a straight line with a little hill in the middle. Chip the ball too soft, it won’t make it across. Hit it too hard, and the hill will serve as a jump, making the ball bounce into the rough.

I was lucky making it across with the third stroke, whereas Troy still struggles to find the right balance, most of the times putting too hard.

“Tell me again how many times I’ll still have to do this?” he asks, voice reaching me once more from the undergrowth where he’s busy searching for his ball.

Leaning on the golf putter, I watch him smugly. “Well, you have nine tries in total per lane,” I explain. “If you don’t manage to get the ball into the hole by then, you’re delivered from trying. But nine points is pretty bad news for your final score.”

“So still three more tries to go...” he concludes, finally returning with the ball.

“Come on, you can do this!” I cheer. “Just try hitting the ball a bit softer.”

And softer he hits it – but the ball doesn’t make it across the slope, instead comes rolling back towards him and he stops it with his boot.

“Now a liiiittle bit harder,” I suggest, absolutely enjoying my role here as the know-it-all commentator from the outside.

A groaning. “Harder, softer, harder, softer…” he complains. “Make up your mind!”

From the other side of the minigolf course, a single walker comes shuffling towards us, a man in his forties, and in an extremely bad condition – he’s already missing half his skull. This is of course nothing but an advantage, since it’ll make it even easier for me to plunge my knife into his brain.

Not yet, though. He won’t be much of a threat to us, that’s clear – so in the beginning we’re not paying much attention to him, rather staying focused on our game.

Troy’s already on his eighth try, when the walker finally reaches us – and what bothers me the most at this moment is actually the fact that I have to _move_ to take care of him, instead of just standing around leisurely.

“Don’t let yourself be distracted,” I tell Troy as I draw my knife. “I got this.”

Approaching the man. “No, you can’t play along,” I tell him, grabbing his shoulder as he leans in to bite me. “We wouldn’t want anyone to be worse at this than Troy, after all.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Troy assures me sarcastically.

The walker hisses greedily and I grin back at Troy as I plunge the knife into his brain and he collapses into my arms – but instead of catching him, I let him drop to the ground.

“Oh, come on, Nick!” Troy calls me with annoyance. “I’m trying to play here!”

Unfortunately, the lifeless walker has fallen right onto the lane, half blocking the path towards the hole.

“Get that away,” Troy grunts. “That asshole’s in my way.”

“Nope, can’t. Sorry,” I reply with a smirk. “You mustn’t touch the lanes – minigolf rule number one. Any dirt that might be covering the lanes becomes part of the lane. You’ll have to make do with that guy lying around.”

“Whatever...” is all Troy replies in the end, taking position next to the ball once more, chipping it… And I’m convinced the power would have been absolutely perfect this time – if it weren’t for that little additional obstacle right there in the middle of the lane.

The ball does make it to the other side of the hill – and that’s when the impossible happens: Chipping  over the hill, the ball hits the walker’s chest, bounces twice and plops right into his half-open mouth.

_No. Way._

For a second, we just blink at each other in disbelief, then all of a sudden burst into laughter, immediately hooting and hollering at the absurdity – Troy eventually taking on a victory pose, while I bend over, pressing my hands on my mouth to muffle my crazy laughter.

“Oh my freaking God!!” I hiss, snorting. This didn’t _actually_ happen! “You bloody lucky bastard!!“

“Oh, I’m so getting a massive bonus for this!!” Troy insists immediately, turning to me with a demanding look. “Twenty points off my score! Even though objectively this would be worth at least thirty points!”

“Let’s not overdo things, okay?” I chip in quickly, catching my breath. “Here’s the deal: You’ll get one point for this lane instead of nine. It will be as if you’d shot a hole-in-one just now.” Raising my eyebrows at him. “Sound fair?”

“And I’m getting a new ball,” he adds, putting his hands on his hips boldly. Smirking. “And a kiss.”

“You get the ball, but not the kiss,” I counter, stopping him with my hands on his chest as he tries to approach me. I shrug, teasing. “After all, we’re sort of rivals at the moment.”

“Aw,” Troy gives me a look of mock-hurt.

“Give it all you got at the minigolf,” I suggest. “Beat me, and maybe I’ll grant you your wish.”

 

***

 

The next minigolf lane turns out to be an even bigger challenge: You have to get your ball past a little windmill which starts spinning unpredictably as soon as there’s even just the slightest breeze. I’m going first. And time after time, my ball bumps into one of the broad sails and comes rolling back at me instead of making its way towards the hole on the other side of the obstacle. Almost having a little déjà vu of Troy’s ten thousand failed tries from our previous hole, I’m already at stroke number seven, when suddenly the familiar groaning of the dead reaches us once more from the distance.

Across the minigolf course, another walker approaches us, probably attracted by all the noise we were making just now cheering at Troy’s lucky hit.

Speaking of lucky hits...

“Hey,” Troy interrupts my stroke, pointing at the walker. “What do I get if I manage another hit like that?” Not even waiting for my reply, he’s already putting his ball down in front of him, taking aim at it like a player in real golf, and with a hard swing, he drives it into the distance.

It does head in the general direction of the walker, I have to admit that, but misses it by at least a hundred yards.

I can’t help laughing at him gleefully. “Ha, you wish, my friend, you wish! Let me show you how this is actually done.”

I’m fed up with the windmill anyway, so I take aim at my ball as well, swinging wide and hitting it off the tee.

Nice. A very promising trajectory indeed –  last second, however, the walker takes an unexpected turn, shuffling away and increasing the distance between him and the ball, which now bounces pitifully on the rough.

“Not bad,” Troy gives me some credit nevertheless, already taking a new ball from our stock, and this time he ends up getting the direction just as perfectly, however not powerful enough, so the ball hits the ground too early, rolling towards the walker and harmlessly bumping into his shoes eventually. The walker doesn’t even step on it and slip. What a shame…

I chuckle with mischief. “Not bad yourself, sweetheart,” I tease ironically – when right at that moment and even closer to us another walker makes their entrance – a business woman with shoulder-length chestnut hair.

“Hey, check this one out,” I elbow Troy, pointing at her. “She seems easier to hit,” I suggest, redirecting my aim at her.

Troy sniffs his chance, too, immediately turning towards her as well.

We both take our shots, both balls coming pretty close, but neither one of them actually hitting her.

“Damn it!” I growl, snapping my fingers. “By a hair’s breadth... If only I’d...”

“Nick,” Troy interrupts me, all of a sudden sounding strangely serious.

I blink at him with a frown.

He nods past me. “Careful. There’s another one behind you.”

I turn around, immediately spotting the gray-haired man heading straight towards me. Geez, where did that guy come from?

“Maybe we were indeed a bit loud,” Troy suggests softly.

“So what,” I counter. “They’re just jealous we didn’t invite them to play along.” Swinging my club in anticipation as I step towards him. “Ain’t that right, boy?” I taunt. “What do you say? Wanna see me take a swing?” I’m holding the golf club now as if it were a baseball bat.

“Go for it!” Troy encourages me, cheering.

“Hell yeah,” I hiss, then swing the club as hard as I can, smashing the iron against the man’s head.

The impact makes me lose my balance for a second – it was different from what I’d anticipated. Even though I wielded it like a baseball bat, it’s still a golf club. And the center of mass as well as the balance of both items are pretty different.

The walker tumbles to the side, but I didn’t manage to crush his skull. Instead, the attack enraged him: Snarling, he spins round, dead eyes focusing on me.

At least the first swing was a valuable lesson, and I immediately go for a second try as soon as I’ve regained my balance.

_Harder, softer, harder, softer…?_

Harder!

This time, the iron connects and blood sprays all across the lane to our left.

“Sweet,” Troy praises me not without a bit of irony though, since it took me two attempts to fell a single, harmless foe like him. “Not quite a hole-in-one, but hey, we cannot _all_ be naturals.”

With a sarcastic look I turn around, on and about to give him a snarky reply, when right at that moment I spot the business woman from before, now however having almost reached us, hungrily coming at Troy.

_Be careful!_ , I want to call, but Troy already noticed her hisses and growls as well, raising his golf club, bracing himself to use it as a weapon just like me.

He takes his swing at her and – in contrast to my sorry try – the iron crushes her skull immediately – but then, to my endless amusement, he’s suddenly facing the same problem as me: Whereas I was unable to break through the bone in the first place, he now fails to remove the clubhead from her skull. It’s stuck.

“What the...” he growls, tugging at the club.

I watch him with a pleased look. “Yep. Been there.”

Eventually, the bone gives in and he pulls the iron from her head – dripping with blood, as the walker drops to the ground. “Okay,” Troy concludes with a nod. “I think I got it now.”

I’m back by his side now, my putter leisurely over my shoulder as I give him a defying grin. “Me too. So what do you say?” I nod at the bunch of walkers heading towards us. “How about some more golf practice?”

He returns my suggestive glance with a smirk, clutching his club with both hands.

 

Not even ten seconds later, my golf club smashes in the next walker’s head, blood splashing and bone splintering as the iron connects with the rotten skull. Another dead person appears right next to me, and I spin round, driving the handle into their shoulders, just to take the fatal swing one blink later.

There’s quite the crowd of walkers roaming the minigolf course by now. It must have indeed been our yelling that lured them here all of a sudden. And yet, we’re both aware this won’t be too much of a problem for us. Even though objectively we’re hopelessly outnumbered, they’re still pretty much scattered over the place, so you can easily take them out one by one.

And I have to admit it, as evil as it sounds, smashing zombie brains with a heavy golf club does have some archaic immediacy to it, an overwhelming, brute force combined with a strange kind of  elegance.

At least that’s what I realize as I watch Troy fight them: The flow of his movements as he wields the club so smoothly and elegantly as if this was nothing but an elaborate dance, yet the strokes of his weapon so focused and powerful. It’s amazing. _He’s_ amazing. If I weren’t in love with him already, this would be the moment to fall for him.

“You’re incredible!” I praise him, giving him an admiring thumbs-up, and the confident grin he shoots me in return only incents my own spirits.

Another swing with my golf club, another broken skull. More blood spilled on the once so innocent minigolf lanes.

A black man stumbles towards me – his face already half missing, the formerly stainless white shirt and the elegant cotton pants stained with dried blood.

I raise the putter once more, holding the lifeless gaze in his clouded eyes with defiance.

And right at that moment, it hits me, a thought, like a vision: That man running around in his living room, laughing, his little daughter on his shoulders.

Happiness. One possible glimpse of the life he may have had. No. Not _he_ , I remind myself. Not this thing in front of me. The life of the _person_ this thing used to be. That’s a difference.

I hear the imaginary daughter’s laughter in my head. And right at that moment, a profound anger and hatred darkens my heart. I find myself despising that thing that shuffles towards me, eyes milky, movements eerie and unnatural. Hating it, even. I hate this thing for “replacing” the person that man used to be, for taking away the loving dad and switching him for some soulless monster endlessly craving for blood, for causing all the grief his family felt when they realized the person they loved would never come back.

“You son of a bitch!” I growl, my club hitting the man’s skull even harder than before, smashing off nearly all the rest of his head.

And hell, it felt good.

Groaning, the next walker approaches me from behind: A large young woman with long blonde hair.

Another vision flashes before my inner eyes: Her sitting in art class painting a still life – a bunch of classmates standing around her, admiring her work.

“You monster,” I hiss at her, taking a short run towards her, before hitting the side of her skull with everything I got. “How could you take this from her?! Her dreams and hopes… Her _life_?!” And even as she’s on the ground, unmoving, my aggression’s far from satisfied. I smash the iron down at her, again and again. I want that thing gone altogether, I want to avenge that girl whose life had ended so abruptly and in such an unfair way. She deserved better. They all deserved better!

A teenage boy grabs my shoulder as I was just about to lose myself battering my victim on the ground, but before he manages to plunge his clenched teeth into my flesh, I spin round, driving the blunt end of my putter in his face, sending him tumbling backwards.

A third vision: Him, wearing his school’s football team’s jersey, arm in arm with his friends blissfully celebrating the match they’d won last second.

Now all that’s left of him is this rotten shell, this shadow of the boy he used to be.

At least let him rest in peace, for Christ’s sake!

But that thing won’t ever. It will never let him lay down and just close his eyes.

I can’t bring that boy back, can’t make all the injustice undone. But at least I can end his torment.

Blood spraying over the lanes – and this time also on me. Cold blood. Lifeless blood. I did a good deed.

I’m gonna kill all of those wicked impostors. I’m gonna avenge all those good and innocent people. All the ones that were loved and missed and mourned. _Travis. Chris, Liza, Griselda. Matt, Thomas, Pablo._

_Dad._

More walkers, more strokes, more blood.

The club in my hands cuts through the air so effortlessly, I don’t even feel any exhaustion, even though there must be – I can feel the sweat on my forehead. And yet, my body feels so light, so perfect. I’m caught in a flow, an emotional high, losing myself in this frenzy – every new kill a seamless continuation of my previous movement, smooth and elegant, just like I’ve seen it with Troy. The dance of death, powerful and merciless. Cleansing.

_Troy._

I’m standing on top of one of the hill obstacles now, swinging my golf club at my foes from my high ground, kicking off walkers that come too close, before knocking them down with the iron once they dare coming at me a second time.

From up here, I let my eyes trail across the minigolf course, looking for him, until I spot him putting his walkers down just a few lanes away.

His face and clothes are sprinkled with blood, yet there’s a grin on his face as he wields the putter – an almost blissful smile – and hell, it’s the same ecstatic, purifying joy that’s also curving my lips. Every walker dead is one tragic death avenged – and God knows how many other innocent lives spared.

In a way, with us battling the dead like this, passionately, mercilessly – it feels like right here, right now, in this very moment, it’s not just us fighting a bunch of walkers. It feels like him and me fighting the apocalypse itself.

And then Troy’s done with his share of opponents, the final walker left in his proximity going down in a mess of blood and gore, and from the corner of my eyes I notice him watch me fight with a mesmerized look on his face. He’s panting from the exhaustion but his eyes on me are sparkling nevertheless.

I crush the skull of my final foe as well and return his look with rugged breaths.

For a moment we just stand there like this, a wordless conversation as silence settles over us.

Then, suddenly, he raises his arms to the sky, right hand still holding the club, and from the top of his lungs yells it into the world: “God, I love you, Nick Clark!”

I don’t reply to that at first, a strange but pleasant pain clenching my heart for a second. There’s appreciation, there’s love, there’s reciprocation. And also something else.

I jump off the little hill and – body almost moving on its own – head over to him with confident steps, wrapping my arm around his hips as soon as I reach him, kissing him hard and passionate as this indescribable euphoria starts spreading through my body once more.

Before he even realizes what's going on, Troy’s already down on the lane, his back resting on the weather-worn concrete, me on top of him. I have my arms on both sides of his head, intensifying the kiss.

“Hmh,” he hums against my lips, the wicked smirk still there. “I take that for a ‘love you, too’.”

“Suit yourself,” I growl back, taking a sharp breath as I feel his hands trail along my sides, down to my thighs.

And in this very moment, I realize it: This feeling that’s drawing us so close right now, it’s the underlying lunacy we both share. A deep-rooted kind of crazy. At the very core of our souls, him and I, we’re the same.

I would love to go on from here, I really do, but we’re not stupid. Silly maybe, but not stupid. We’re well aware of how dangerous the wilderness is. It isn’t a place for playing games. Especially not any games that encompass at least one of us ending up in an awkward position on the ground that would make it pretty tricky to hastily get back up if need be.

And in all honesty, I’m not really keen on joining the walkers roaming this place, waiting an eternity just to get my head bashed in by the next pair of crazy golfers going for a little round here.

So as much as it hurts me, I draw back.

“What?” Troy asks me, disappointed.

“Nothing,” I reply, as I get back on my feet.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks me, looking up at me puzzled.

I shake my head. “Of course not. I just…” Shrugging. “I just don’t want to end up as a walker myself… and not to mention one without their pants.” Offering him my hand to help him up as well.

He just blinks at me for a short while, then suddenly starts laughing. “That would indeed be a whole new level of _creepy_...”

Taking my hand, I pull him to his feet and am just about to turn away when he doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead tugs at it.

I shoot him a questioning look.

He holds my eyes. “Car?”

 

***

 

It’s dark by the time we reach our vehicle.

He’s on top of me in no time, pushing me back with hungry kisses, until I’m half lying on the backseat, half propped up against the side door. Plunging my fingers in his shirt, I pull him in to me even closer, enjoying the sensation of his hands running through my hair.

I want him. I want him so much. With everything he is. The familiar body, the familiar scent, the familiar warmth. He and I, we’re wired in the same way, the same pleasant kind of crazy, the same mad darkness inside of us. We’re one. We should be one.

Biting his bottom lips eagerly, he takes my breath with another fervent kiss, until he pulls back, sits up and grabs my hands to pull me into a sitting position as well.

Wordlessly, hastily, we work on each other’s clothes, and with trembling hands buttons are being undone, shirts pulled over our heads, zippers opened.

Then I find myself in his embrace, warm skin against my chest, smooth skin under my fingers. Letting my chin rest on his shoulder, I run my fingertips through the messy hair, enjoying his pondering heartbeat against my own, closing my eyes with a gasp as he lets his lips trail along my neck, softly biting my shoulder.

For a moment we stay like this, quiet and still in the total darkness surrounding us, and the anticipation mixes with the feeling of foreordainment, of helplessness, like we couldn’t resist each other even if we wanted to.

And right at that moment, as I’m about to succumb to this blissful fogginess clouding my mind, the bump of a hand against the side door window gets me to snap awake, eyes suddenly wide open. And right there outside, barely visible against the all-surrounding darkness, the eyes of a dead person stare back at me, a pale face, skin half torn apart, long, greasy raven hair.

The horror I feel right at that moment is beyond measure, like an ice cold sting in my heart. Dull eyes, not reflecting any moonlight fixed on me, like she could actually see me, observe me, observe us. Scratching the pane with her fingers.

Troy doesn’t react to it. He must have heard the bump but probably assumed it was just my foot accidentally hitting the door.

My rationality tells me one single walker would never be enough to smash a car window, and yet. My primal instincts warn me to alert Troy, to get him to be the voice of reason I’m so utterly failing at being right now. No matter the danger, no matter the disgust. Her hungry eyes mesmerize me in a way. A different kind of desire. A different kind of need. She wants us. I want Troy.

Eye to eye with the ugly face of death, I crave the living even more. In the strangest way, this ice-cold fear mixing with the burning lust inside my body feels arousing in such a wicked way, I end up doing nothing about it. I kiss Troy’s shoulder, holding her eyes, whispering his name.

He pushes me back on the seats, the back of my head softly leaning against the door, as he follows me down, and I hold on to him as tight as I can, while at the same time not letting go of the eyes of the dead person staring at me, and seconds later I feel him inside, warm and alive.

“Nick…” he whimpers in my ear, short-breathed and just as helpless as me, as defiantly I hold the eyes of our lifeless voyeur, creeped out and turned on at the same time.

I know it’s silly and paradox. That thing isn’t human. I know that. It’s an object, like a tree or a stone. I could as well be aroused by being watched by a pebble. And yet…

I clench my teeth as suddenly he grows rougher, my fingers involuntarily digging into his back.

Sometimes, when he’s on top, he tends to go a little overboard – but that’s no problem since I’m always quick to remind him to take it a little easier. Not tonight though.

Rough and wild and crazy is exactly how I want it right now, how I _need_ it right now.

_Softer, harder, softer, harder…_

“Harder,” I choose, body now tensing as he complies with my wish, and I increasingly find it hard to breathe, but I need her to see. I need her to watch when it happens. I need her to see we’re everything she’s not: alive.

Bony fingers smearing blood over the window. Bared teeth flashing in the moonlight as she tries to bite at the glass. Milky, dead eyes holding mine. I’m face to face with death, nothing but a thin pane of glass separating us from a cruel fate. The risk is intoxicating. It sends shivers down my spine.

Just as much as Troy’s touch.

Eventually I can’t take it anymore. I break from her gaze as I force my eyes shut, throwing my head back, fighting so hard to keep it down, keep it down as much as possible.

Troy collapses on top of me, immediately wrapping his arms around me, gasping. I try to calm my own breath, burying my face in his hair. “You’re so good at this,” I whisper to him, kissing his slightly damp hair. “So freaking good…”

With my left hand, I reach down to the floor, feeling for the blanket I dropped there when I got up this morning. My fingers finally connecting with the soft fabric, I pull it over us, keeping us warm and shielding us from any lifeless gazes.

 

***

 

The remaining walkers must have scattered again over night – including our eerie spectator at the car. In the morning, the minigolf course is abandoned again, except for the many lifeless corpses lying around – the only actual proof someone’s been spending a little time here not long ago.

Equipped with our putters and a bunch of new balls, we’re back on the course, planning to finish yesterday’s game before finally heading home.

So hole eight – the windmill one – it still is. With a quick glance on our scorecard, I sigh. “Alright, eighth stroke for me then.”

“Good luck,” Troy wishes, watching me get ready for my next try.

But turns out, luck isn’t what I need anymore. Today’s an entirely windless day, so the mill’s as still as a pillar of salt. I would have gotten the ball on the other side blindfolded. Next stroke gets the ball in the hole, so I finish with the maximum of nine points.

Troy, naturally, doesn’t have any problems with the static windmill, so he manages to hole the ball with just two strokes.

“Not fair,” I growl, a little displeased. “If yesterday had been as windless as today, it wouldn’t have taken me nine tries to get this one done either.” Subtly hinting I’m expecting him to suggest I should take a second chance on this hole as well, but with Troy as the recipient of this implicit communication, as expected, I bite on granite.

“Well, weren’t you the one who told me you gotta take the lanes as they are?” he counters instead. “You expected me to finish the hole with a dead person blocking half the lane, so yeah. As you said, _bad luck_.”

“Pff, whatever,” I shrug with a snort. Fine then. It’s not like I actually _need_ any mercy of his. I’m good enough at this on my own and there are plenty of holes left for me to make up for this little piece of “bad luck”.

I’m indeed doing exceptionally well on all of the remaining lanes. Troy’s skills, however, have apparently significantly improved over night as well, so we’re basically in a dead heat. And since my many unnecessary strokes at the windmill hole unfairly increased my score whereas his lucky “hole-in-one” at the hill lane significantly lowered his, once we calculate the final results, his score turns out to be the better one by as little as one point.

“Ha-ha!” he bursts out immediately – him of course not being the kind of person that would be modest about something like that. “Would you believe that? Told you, I’m a natural!”

“Natural,” I repeat with a little huff – so yeah. I’ve always been tending towards being a sore loser, and it’s not helping that it’s basically my own fault, since I shouldn’t have granted him such a big bonus on that hole he sucked so badly at.

Troy however is blissfully oblivious to my annoyance, grinning at me happily. “So I won,” he reminds me once more. “What about my prize?”

“Prize?” I repeat, not realizing what he might have in mind.

“The kiss you promised me,” Troy explains with a smirk.

I snort. “Come on,” I growl. “You got like a hundred last night.”

He shrugs easily. “But none of them was because of my victory.”

“I wouldn’t call it a _victory_ ,” I murmur under my breath.

If he heard it, he doesn’t care much about it. “So?” he demands, eyeing me suggestively.

“Well, fine!” I give in, rolling my eyes, even if just on purpose. Yeah, of course, being the winner is great, but truth be told, being the _prize_ someone else is fighting for isn’t the most unpleasant feeling either. Closing the distance between us, I lean into him, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

He immediately starts grinning merrily, like a kid that’s been granted the popsicle they wanted so much.

I can’t help chuckling fondly at that. “Alright, come on,” I murmur eventually, nodding towards the car. “Let’s head home. People are waiting for us. Besides,” I shrug, “I’m done with minigolf for the time being anyway.”

“Sore loser,” he calls me, as we head back.

“Whatever,” I counter.

He just grins at me, bumping my shoulder softly.

I can’t help chuckling, returning the bump.

 

***

 

We reach the ranch in the afternoon, parking the car right in front of the pantry to unload the supplies when inside we unexpectedly run into my mom.

“Oh, there you are,” she calls as she spots us, turning away from the shelf she’s been filling with cans of soup. “I was starting to get worried. We were expecting you back in the morning.”

“We came by an abandoned minigolf course and couldn’t resist making an additional stop,” I explain truthfully with a grin.

Mom snorts as she shoots us a look. “Oh, isn’t that adorable,” she comments ironically. “The little kids had to play minigolf.”

I counter with a goofy grin, totally letting her belief it was nothing but an afternoon of family friendly entertainment.

“So who’s the winner?” she wants to know.

Troy and I reply simultaneously.

“Me,” Troy informs her proudly, whereas I go for a more diplomatic “We both, actually.”

Immediately, I feel Troy’s eyes on me as he gives me a frown. “Why? No!” he objects. “The results were clear. I had the lower score.”

“You had the lower score after we bent the rules like a hundred times for you to even stay in the game,” I point out.

“Well, it wasn’t my fault you sucked so badly with the windmill,” Troy counters stubbornly.

“You had an unfair advantage!” I insist. “I would have aced it as well if it hadn’t been for that stupid wind!”

 

They go on like this for a little while longer, and Madison just smiles to herself listening to their bickering as she goes back to work. _Kids!_

 

* * *

 

_Thank you so much to[Cudzinec](https://www.deviantart.com/cudzinec/art/Heat-751881467), for creating yet another stunning illustration for the fic!!_

__

 


	11. Home (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, everyone! Sorry it took me so long again to finish the new chapter - to my defense, it's a rather long one again ;)  
> Since it has been requested several times, here we finally go with the militia and the ranchers finding out :) This is going to be a three chapter arc, by the way, so the issue won't be done with after the last scene! ;)  
> Hope you'll stick around! :)

“They could have died!” I growl, clutching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. “They could have died because of some stupid USB drive and a pair of raddled jeans!” It’s been a few hours already since we found out, yet the thought of what could have happened still cuts like a knife.

“You know, your sister’s just missing her home,” Troy shrugs. “She had to do this.”

“She should have told us!” I counter, still keeping my eyes fixed on the road. “She should have taken the militia.”

I feel Troy’s eyes on me from the side. “We would have tried to talk her out of it.”

“Yeah, damn right I would have!” I bark, louder than before. “No one – I repeat – _no one_ in their right mind would set foot into L.A. again! It’s suicide! The walkers roaming the streets, the raiders... The city was a crowded place.” Eyes darting to him. “Still is.”

“You lived in one of the suburbs,” Troy reminds me. “That’s not the city center.”

“It’s still madness to go there,” I insist.

“Jake went with her,” he points out.

“Frankly, I don’t see how this makes it any better,” I counter. “He should have stopped her instead of tagging along!” I snort with a growl. “And I thought we were the irresponsible ones...”

“Irresponsible?” Troy blinks at me. “We’re never irresponsible.”

“Well,” I shrug, “that thing at the minigolf course was a little irresponsible...”

“Why?” he shakes his head. “It’s not like we were ever in any _actual_ danger.”

 _Weeell_ , I think to myself, _I somehow doubt you’d still see it that way if you knew about our nightly guest at the car window..._

“I’m sure they would have turned around if the risk had been too high,” Troy concludes eventually. “Plus, they made it back home safely, so why dwell on it?”

Yeah, why dwell on it? _Maybe_ because I need my sister to be safe, and finding out she’d put herself in such a great danger without me even knowing... It’s hard to keep the ones you love safe if they don’t even give you the chance to do so!

That’s one reason. The second reason is harder to admit. But... in all honesty... it _hurts_. Thinking of home hurts. Being confronted with home hurts.

I remember, the night of the festival, the night we got together, Troy offered to join me on a trip back home as well. And I declined. I knew I couldn’t stand stepping through the door once again, being back in all those familiar rooms, the kitchen, the living room, my room – and all of it just _not_ being our house anymore. I don’t want to see it raided, our privacy breached, the things we loved and cherished broken and stolen, the familiar furniture sullied with blood. It’s hard enough to accept the fact we lost the home we loved, but it’s easier than thinking of it ransacked and destroyed.

Now, Alicia’s been there and she’s returned with confirmation of all those horrible fears of mine. Our house’s indeed been plundered, misused to lock up a herd of walkers. And I know I’ll never be able to think of home the same.

She’s retrieved some of the worthless stuff that’s still been there, though: photos, clothes we liked, other junk with some kind of nostalgic value. Our phones and computers as well as Mom’s jewelry were long gone. Yeah, good luck calling someone or finding a buyer for the gems!

No, seriously, though. I guess in the New World, the only real treasures we have left are the people around us, the ones we love. And thinking of that, I realize there’s one thing Troy’s been right about: Alicia and Jake did bring back something of value.

_Themselves._

 

Two more hours to go until we reach our destination. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I blindly reach for my ice tea in the cup holder, taking a sip from the straw.

Troy is lounging on the passenger seat, his legs crossed on the dashboard, map spread out on his lap. He studies it, while leisurely chewing on a piece of beef jerky.

I’m not even sure he’s listening as I’ve started rambling once again how I can’t believe Alicia and Jake would take such a risk for nothing, when all of a sudden something weird catches my attention.

“Uhm, Troy...”

“Hmmh?” Not looking up from his maps.

“Check out those two walkers over there...”

Walkers. That keyword catches his attention. Lifting his head, his eyes follow my finger into the distance.

“What about them? They’re just some random strays.”

“They were coming towards the road at first, but when they noticed the car, they turned around and started heading in the opposite direction.” I shoot him a glance. “I’ve never seen a walker turning away from a stimulus instead of just rushing towards it blindly.”

It’s obvious I’ve piqued his interest. He puts the map away immediately and takes his legs off the dashboard, suddenly sitting up straight.

“Are you sure these are actually walkers?”

“What else could they be?” I counter, squinting my eyes as we’re driving by slowly. Judging by their shuffling, the gore-covered skin...

“Blood camouflage,” Troy states, fishing a pair of binoculars from our mess of empty coke cans and snack wrappings.

“People?” I ask with a frown, observing Troy’s reaction as he takes a look through the binoculars.

Eventually he snorts. “Yeah. A couple. But it’s not blood they’re covered in. Their skin’s burnt by the sun.” Putting the binoculars down before looking at me. “And they have a baby with them.”

 

Unsure about what to do at first, I involuntarily slow down the car.

“Nick,” Troy calls me strictly.

Yeah, I know what he’s gonna say. _We can’t take home every stray we encounter._

“But what if one of them is a doctor who could support Pam?” I answer, anticipating his objection. “Or a dentist. We could so use a dentist!” Looking at him as we’re only going at walking speed anymore by now. “They could contribute.”

“Or maybe she’s an accountant and he’s a software developer,” Troy points out, not without adding sarcastically: “She could bill Walker for all the stuff he gets from us, while he programs the ranch’s website.”

I just keep looking at him. “They’re _dying_...”

Of course I know Troy has a point. We don’t have the resources to feed the world. But then again, seeing those two – three – stagger through the desert like this, hungry and thirsty, skins sunburnt, eye to eye with death, with no hope of ever being rescued, I can’t help seeing myself shuffling through the wilderness, injured and weak and on the verge of dying. If it hadn’t been for Luci to find me and take pity on me, I wouldn’t be here anymore.

“Well, I guess we can spare some supplies,” Troy gives in eventually, probably reading in my eyes what’s going through my head. “We can check them out. See what kind of people they are.”

“Really?” I look at him, surprised.

He shrugs.

I nod. “Thanks.” I turn the car around, leave the road and slowly approach them cross-country.

They’re immediately scared, naturally, hastily trying to speed up their pace, attempting to run from us. But weak and dehydrated as they are, that’s of course ridiculous.

Once in earshot, I stop in safe distance, rolling down the window.

“Hey there!” I call, but they don’t slow down. “We’re not here to harm you.”

They don’t react, but keep on getting away from us.

“They don’t want our help,” Troy concludes, leaning back in his seat.

“They’re just scared,” I counter, going for another shot. “We just wanna help!” I call, and this time, I actually get the man to turn around.

For a second, I’m shocked. It feels like a walker staring right back at me. Skin red as blood, arms bruised, lips shriveled.  My God, was that also what I looked like when Luci found me?

“Go away, leave us alone,” the man hisses with a hostile voice, making a repellent gesture. “We don’t need any help!”

“Judging by the way you look, I disagree,” Troy suddenly chips in, leaning past me towards the window. He nods at the woman – by no means in any better condition –, who’s clutching a little bundle to her chest. “The baby disagrees as well.”

That at least gets the woman to stop in her tracks and seconds later, the man pauses as well.

“We’ve just stocked up on supplies at an abandoned supermarket,” I tell them amicably. “We can give you something. Water, milk for the baby. We’ll leave it over here and once we’re gone, you can take it or leave it. No risk for you at all.”

I stop the engine and Troy nods at me, then we get out of the car and move around to the trunk, putting together a few supplies in a box.

A bunch of water bottles, more than they could drink, but they’re probably gonna waste a lot cooling their skin. Canned soups. The promised milk for the baby. A few packages of beef jerky and granola bars. Pain killers – not that they’re gonna help their severe burnings in the slightest, they need proper medical treatment for that, but it might at least help them make their injuries more bearable until then. Two fresh towels, to clean the baby and use them as a makeshift diaper. And finally we also leave them two huge cardboard boxes the supplies we’ve gathered had been packaged with – they can use them as screens against the relentless desert sun.

Once we close the trunk again, I almost expect them to be gone, but to my surprise, they’re still standing right there, petrified, eying us warily in disbelief.

“Why are you helping us?” the woman wants to know, voice croaky, but eyes sharp.

I turn to her and our eyes meet. I’m holding her gaze. “I’ve been lost in the desert once, too,” I tell her sternly. “I know the agonies of the relentless sun and the torments of thirst. I would have died too, if it hadn’t been for generous people.” Then I nod at the box on the dusty desert ground, insisting, “Take the supplies.”

“And still.” The man chips in unexpectedly, his voice stronger and more hostile than the woman’s. “No one gives away that much without getting anything in return.” His eyes are glaring. “Don’t you need this yourself?”

“We have plenty where we come from,” Troy explains, hinting at the ranch to my utter surprise. He even goes on: “A community, with food, water and electricity. We could take you there, get your wounds treated.”

They’re both extremely wary as soon as Troy suggests getting into the car with us. Then the bundle in the woman’s arms moves slightly, and she falters. “How far is it?” she wants to know.

Troy laughs at her. “Farther than you could ever walk, especially considering the shape you’re in. We’ve been on the road for hours.”

They share a long look, fearing they can’t trust us, yet at the same time unwilling to die. A dilemma.

One I actually know very well myself.

“Look,” I say, amicably. “You don’t have to make up your mind right now. We’ve got another destination to try for supplies. If everything works according to plan, we’ll return tomorrow morning, the same route. If you don’t wanna come with us, you’ll have plenty of time to run in the meantime. If you wanna take on our offer, we’ll pick you up right here.” Opening the driver’s door, I shoot them one final look. “Think about it.” Then I get in.

Troy’s by the passenger door, still looking at them over the roof of the car. “Here’s a little food for thought,” he adds pointedly. “If we actually wanted to harm you, we would have done so already instead of wasting the good supplies.”

With that, we take off, leaving them behind in the glaring desert sun, with a box full of life and one hell of a dilemma to brood over.

 

***

 

Troy and I are taking bets on whether they’ll be waiting for us on our way back home or long gone already.

There’s just one problem: We both think they’ll still be there, so betting is sorta pointless.

Especially since in the end, we both would have won: We spot the makeshift shelter they’ve built with our cardboard boxes miles away.

I’d originally been surprised Troy was so quick on agreeing to take them with us, but I guess he’s mostly doing it to make a good impression on me. And after all, “If they misbehave, we’ll just kick them out again,” he pointed out, and that indeed seemed like a fair compromise to settle for.

Both the man and the woman – as well as the baby – seem to be in a much better condition than yesterday. The food, water and especially the shade seem to have done them good. They’re still in dire need of medical treatment, that’s out of question, but as far as I can tell, neither of them seems to be in a life-threatening condition anymore.

“There is one more thing before we take you with us,” I tell them with a serious face. “In the New World, there are three questions to determine the character of strangers. You’re gonna answer them.” That’s what we’ve learned from a man named Morgan, whom we’ve crossed paths with in the wilderness just a month ago. Morgan has continued his journey, his three questions however have stayed with us.

I hold the man’s eyes defiantly. “How many walkers have you killed?”

“Killed?” The man replies, exchanging a look with his partner. “What do you mean? None!”

Well, that’s not much of an impressive record. But whatever. Second question. “How many _people_ have you killed?”

The woman hesitates on this, the man however doesn’t blink. “One,” he states bluntly.

Third question. “Why?”

He replies sternly. “Because otherwise she would have killed us.”

I exchange a look with Troy, who holds my eyes and nods.

“Fair enough,” I conclude, turning away and beckoning them to follow me to the car.

“How many walkers have _you_ killed?” the man suddenly calls after me and I stop, perplexed for a second to have my own question thrown back at me.

“Lost count,” I reply casually, without turning around, considering this enough of an answer.

“And how many _people_ have you killed?” he goes on.

This gets me to stop after all. I look at him over my shoulder. “Sixteen,” I answer truthfully, without wavering, watching as their eyes widen in fear.

Yeah, I know, my kill count has increased quite a bit over the past months. But to my defense, it’s not just been _dead_ people attacking the ranch.

Yet, I know what question’s about to come next.

“ _Why_?” The man wants to know.

“First one was an accident,” I start. _Calvin_. “Second one was to prevent a massacre.” _Jeremiah_. “Everyone else was to defend our home and the people we love.” It’s the truth. Whether they still wanna come with us or not is up to them.

“What about you?” the woman says, unexpectedly turning to Troy. “How many walkers have _you_ killed?”

God, no! This is heading into dangerous territory.

“Lost count,” Troy replies, staring back at her, also aware of where she’s going to go next.

I can’t keep her from posing the next question.

“How many _people_ have you killed?” she says it out loud.

Troy holds her eyes defiantly. _Just_ _lie!_ I implore him silently. But he replies, unfazed. “Lost count, too.”

The words hang in the air like a dangling knife and I know we’ve lost them, unless I’m the one to reply to Question Number Three.

They’re both too shocked to go on with this little game. So I end up voicing the final question myself.

“And why?” I spell it out before answering as well. “Because he’s the leader of our militia and by that, he’s defended our home against countless gangs of raiders, robbers and murderers.” It’s not a lie. I’m just deciding to leave out the other half of the truth.

It seems to reassure them a little. For a moment, they share a long, reluctant look.

“All we’re saying,” I conclude eventually, “is that we’ll go to any lengths to keep our home safe. To make sure the people there can live their lives in peace. If you want to, you can be part of those people.”

Eventually, they turn back to us and the woman nods. “Living in peace is all we want.”

 

So not even five minutes later, we’re all in the car, and only once the car starts moving, everyone seems to relax a little. I even spot a tiny smile of relief on the woman’s face, as she leans back in the passenger seat next to Troy, closing her eyes for a second, enjoying the wind playing in her dried-out, messy hair.

I can imagine what she’s feeling. When you’re slogging through the desert, each step is agony, over and over again. Now we’re moving so effortlessly, covering more ground in just ten seconds than they could have managed in a whole hour. And instead of roaming around aimlessly, we’re heading for an actual destination. For safety.

They hope this is where we’re actually going. We know it is.

“Boy or girl?” I ask eventually, nodding at the baby in the arms of the man next to me on the backseat.

“Girl,” he informs me, weakly but obligingly, folding back the towel a little, so I can catch a glimpse at the sleeping baby, and I’m relieved to see at least her skin seems unharmed. She’s just a few weeks old at the most, that shocks me a little. Yet, she’s so peacefully asleep, no one would guess the ordeal she and her parents had been through just now.

“What’s her name?” I want to know.

The woman looks at me over her shoulder. “Ronnie,” she tells me.

“Hey there, Ronnie,” I whisper, voice high-pitched and soft, “It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Nick.”

“And I’m Clara,” the woman adds and the man introduces himself as Nathan.

“Where are you from, Nathan and Clara?” Troy asks then, shooting her a look from the side.

“San Francisco, originally,” Nathan explains quickly. “Had to run when the world was falling to shreds. Lost our home and everything we had.”

“You still got each other,” I reply automatically, thinking back to what I realized with Alicia and her little trip to L.A. _The actual treasures in the New World are the people we love. With them around, any place can be home._

I spot a faint, but appreciating smile on Clara’s face in the rear mirror as I say this. “That’s true...”

“And what did you do for a living, in the Old World?” Troy goes on with his background check.

“I was a software engineer in the Silicon Valley,” Nathan tells us, and I can’t help snorting inwardly as Troy’s mock-prediction had actually turned out to be true.

“And I was working at _99.7 Now_ , a radio station in San Francisco,” Clara adds, piquing my interest.

“You were a radio host?” I ask curiously, as suddenly the thought crosses my mind she might actually be famous.

“I was just reading the traffic news,” she explains, toning it down a little.

“What do you mean, _just_?” I object. “A lot of people recognize your voice!”

“It _is_ cool,” Troy supports me, just to raise his eyebrows at me in the rear mirror. “I mean, we can’t all be dentists.”

I’m just grimacing back at him, getting him to chuckle.

“What did you guys do, before the end of the world?” Nathan wants to know, looking at me.

 _Well, I basically spent my days getting high... and... getting high._ “I’d just graduated,” I lie. “Was in the middle of trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Then the world made that decision for me.”

“I spent my days living and working at the ranch,” Troy says. “Done so all my life.”

“Ranch?” Clara repeats. “Is this the place we’re going?”

Troy and I nod simultaneously, then give them a quick summary of the place we live at.

“I don’t understand,” Nathan says eventually. “How did you manage to gather all those resources so quickly when the infection started to spread?”

“The ranch was designed as a survivalist community from the very start,” Troy explains. “We’ve always been autonomous and self-sustaining.”

“Sounds amazing,” Clara sighs, that deep exhaustion still audible in her voice. “It would be great if we could stay with you for a while, then. Until we figure out where to go.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” I reply. “Right, Troy?” Shooting him a look in the rear mirror, and he replies with a sigh, which I generously read as his way of saying he’s okay with it.

“Troy,” Clara then repeats after a while, and only now I realize he’s the only one who hasn’t introduced himself yet. “I’ve always liked that name. Such a shame it’s kinda rare.”

“Rare?” Troy repeats with a frown.

She just grins softly, like it was a silly thing to say. “Well, to be honest, the only Troy that comes to my mind is Troy Bolton.”

I can’t help snickering at that, as – thinking of _my_ Troy – that association seems just _so wrong_.

“Please tell me that’s a football player and not some porn star,” Troy pleads, and for a second we all fall silent, before bursting into laughter merrily.

And that’s the moment, with us laughing together, when I knew the ice between us had melted and it was the right choice to take them with us.

“God, no,” I eventually reply, snorting. “He’s the protagonist from High School Musical.”

“What now?” Troy blinks.

Rolling my eyes at him fondly, I stage-whisper to Clara: “He grew up on a farm.”

“Hey!” Troy complains.

I shrug, sitting back. “Well, it’s true!”

“And you know the names of the characters?” Clara grins at me with a disbelieving chuckle.

“Sorta,” I counter quickly. “Alicia used to be crazy about it. Sang the songs day and night.”

“Alicia,” Nathan repeats, looking at me amicably. “Girlfriend?”

“Sister,” I correct quickly, then suddenly crack a grin. Boisterously, I nod at Troy. “My girlfriend’s actually right here, behind the steering wheel.” And to stress my point, I hit him playfully but hard on the shoulder blades. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Ouch!” Troy complains, then holds my eyes defiantly. “And just who are you calling _girlfriend, honey_?!”

Nathan and Clara start laughing at this, assuming we’re joking. Eventually realizing that’s not the case, they grow silent again.

“Seriously now?” Nathan blinks at me.

I shrug and nod with a grin.

He shoots Clara a surprised look in the rear mirror, and she just shrugs and chuckles, before leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes to sleep.

 

***

 

About one and a half weeks later, I have an idea.

It’s a lazy Tuesday evening and Troy and I are lounging on the couch in the living room, watching a few episodes of some ancient black-and-white comedy show we found among Jake’s DVD collection. Though calling it _watching_ may actually be a bit too much. It’s more of a background entertainment. I’m rather dozing than actually paying attention, comfortably resting in Troy’s arms, who’s busy writing down his latest observations or whatever in his notebook.

“You know what,” I start after a while, opening my eyes a little to absent-mindedly gaze at the TV screen.

“Hmh?” he asks softly.

“I ran into Nathan and Clara this afternoon,” I inform him, while the invisible audience on the show reacts to one of the main character’s one-liners with a round of laughter. “They seem much better and they’ve already started to contribute.”

It’s true. I mean, in all fairness, the ranch’s demand for “Unix-based web applets” is somewhat limited and our most significant traffic incident in the past months had been Liam hitting a fence post while reversing the car (I’ll never forget the sight of Troy covering his eyes with both hands while Coop just burst out laughing), but when I talked to them today, they were already on their way to help Mrs. Franks on the fields. I mean, dentist or not, this is something anyone can do.

“I think they enjoy staying here at the ranch.”

Troy snorts quietly, as if to say, _Well, that’s not much of a surprise considering the standard of living we offer here._

I can’t argue that. And still, this was not what I was aiming for. “If they’re really planning on staying… I dunno. That little trailer might be a bit small for them. Especially with the baby. So I was thinking...” Shrugging. “Maybe they could have the cottage.”

The scribbling sound of Troy’s writing stops. “What do you mean, _have the cottage_?”

“Give it to them,” I reply.

More fake laughter on the show.

He doesn’t react to that, so I turn my head to look up at him, see his expression.

He looks perplexed, startled even. “But the cottage is yours,” he reminds me hesitantly. “You were the one who rebuilt it. You put so much work into this!”

“Yeah, but I spend most of my time here with you,” I counter, “and the cottage is empty. They, on the other hand, are a real little family. To them, having their own place would be amazing.”

“Yeah, sure,” he concedes, “but... what about what the cottage means to you? What it means to us? Think of all the memories we shared there.”

“Well, those memories aren’t actually physically tied to the cottage. They’re in here.” Tapping on my heart. “We won’t lose any of them, even if we give away the cottage. And we’ll always make new memories, whether here, at the cottage, or anywhere else. It doesn’t really matter, as long as it’s you and me. Right?” Shooting him another hopeful look, but he still seems wary.

“Where would you live, then?” he whispers eventually.

A bit more reluctant laughter on the TV this time.

Uhm... that was actually your cue, Troy. “Well, I’ll put up a tent on the fields,” I deadpan, but he doesn’t get it.

“On the fields?” he repeats instead.

I roll my eyes inwardly. On the outside, I’m a bit more sheepish spelling it out to him. “Well, I was thinking...” I start, playing with the hem of my sleeve, “I mean since I’m basically already living here anyway...”

“You wanna move in _here_?!” he spells it out, to my surprise sounding rather shocked than delighted.

“You said you felt sad and lonely living all by yourself in this big house,” I defend.

“Yeah, but...” he objects – and to me, this strange and inexplicable reluctance is reason enough to backpedal.

“You know what, just forget about it,” I conclude, shaking my head. “I don’t mind moving back in with my mom into the bunkhouse.”

“Nick,” he calls me conciliatorily.

“No, it’s okay,” I insist. “If you don’t want me here.” Breaking from his embrace to sit up on the couch. I was getting uncomfortable in this position anyway.

“Come on, Nick,” he objects softly, reaching for my arm. “Of course I want you here.”

The audience breaks into laughter once more and by now it annoys me so much, I grab the remote control and switch off the TV.

Silence settles over us.

“Obviously.” I shoot him a displeased look over my shoulder.

“It’s true!” he insists, then shrugs, shaking his head. “It’s just...” Looking down to avoid my eyes. And eventually he whispers: “What would people think?”

I was just about to get up from the couch, when all of a sudden, his words open up a whole new perspective on his reluctance, getting me closer to the bottom of what’s really going on.

I sit back down, surprised, turning towards him.

“Since when do you care about what people think?” I ask, an honest question.

“I don’t,” he insists immediately. “But what if they don’t approve? Once we make this official, there’s no taking it back anymore, even if we regret it.”

So this is what’s been on his mind? Yeah, of course, I’m aware chances are some people here at the ranch might be a little homophobic, like Jeremiah – and for the record also Troy himself. But I couldn’t picture people chasing us off the ranch with hay forks in their hands.

So maybe his reluctance rather stems from a fear people wouldn’t respect him that much anymore if they knew? But he such a good leader and an incredibly skilled fighter. Everyone knows that! And these things wouldn’t change, no matter who he loves.

And yet, if this is the fear that keeps him from making it official, then...

I look at him, face blank and maybe also a little sad. “But that means we could _never_ move in with each other... _Never_...”

He takes a deep sigh, eyes full of honest regret. “Nick,” he calls me softly. “Believe me, I would _love_ if you moved in with me. More than anything. But...” He shakes his head, searching for the right words. Eventually he purses his lips and looks away. “I dunno. There’s just no way of telling how people would react.”

“No, there is no way of telling,” I agree after a few moments. “But that also means we can’t be certain it’s definitely gonna be in a negative way. Maybe they’ll be okay with it. Maybe they simply won’t care.” I shrug. “Yeah, maybe some of them won’t like it. But then again, that applies to pretty much everything in life. There’ll always be people who disapprove.”

He neither replies nor meets my eyes.

“Well, maybe we could stick to baby steps,” I suggest, taking his hands. “Give it a shot telling a _few_ people. People we trust. See how they’ll react. The militia for example.”

“The militia,” he snorts. “You do realize I’m their leader and I need their respect more than anyone’s here at the ranch?”

“Yeah, but they’re also our friends and they know us so well,” I counter. “I mean compared to the demographic of the rest of the ranch, they certainly qualify as the younger ones – and even though that’s not a guarantee for liberal attitudes, I’m pretty sure our chances with them are quite good.”

He doesn’t object. Maybe that’s not the worst sign.

“I mean Coop appreciates both of us for our skills and our engagement for this cause. And he’s professional enough to know that all those things wouldn’t go away if we were a couple. Alex is such a cheerful and open person. She would never judge anyone. And Liam, I think he even had a gay brother or sister. I remember him hinting at something like that once.” Giving Troy’s hand a squeeze.

“Hmh…” He still doesn’t seem convinced.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I’m sure they’ll accept,” I go on. “And who knows, maybe it’ll even help us with the rest of the ranchers. Maybe they can help giving us their opinion on how they think their families would react?”

“But what if you’re wrong?” Troy asks, suddenly meeting my eyes. “What if they disapprove?”

“Well, we don’t have to go like a bull at a gate with this,” I admit. “Maybe we could start by simply announcing I’m moving in with you. If they start frowning or react in a weird way, we’ll adapt our plan on the fly, and clarify with some innocent excuse, like I got some kind of water damage at the cottage, and it’s a temporary thing. That way, we could give it a shot without risking anything at all.”

“We could abort anytime,” he concludes quietly.

“Exactly!” I agree, sounding even more encouraging now that I’m getting the feeling I got him convinced. “So, what do you say?”

Troy seems to think about it for a long while. Then eventually, he nods. “Well, sounds like a plan.”

 

***

 

So already two day later is the moment we decide on to take a chance at revealing our relationship to the militia.

We’re having our usual morning briefing anyway, with Coop giving us a quick report on yesterday’s mission and Troy filling us in on the plans for the coming days.

Even though I’m the one who initiated this, I’m starting to feel pretty nervous, now that the time has come. In contrast to usual briefings, this time I’m not sitting with the rest of the militia, but standing at the side of the room, leaning against the wall and waiting for my cue, so everyone’s probably already guessing there’ll be some kind of announcement from my side.

As the minutes go by, I realize I’m not so much worried for myself, as for Troy actually. Even though he assured me time and again he wants this too and if this helps us get a chance on moving in together, we have to give it a try, I know it was still me who pressured him.

So what if they actually won’t be cool with it and this moment’s gonna have consequences…? What if I do end up destroying Troy’s reputation and thereby his happiness here at the ranch? The place that means everything to him? What if I end up causing a horrible misfortune for the one person I love more than anyone?

Until now, I’d been so convinced they’ll approve. Now the chance of this revelation turning into a huge catastrophe stirs an unsettling feeling inside my heart.

“So, that’s basically it for today,” Troy concludes suddenly and his words snap me out of my thoughts. God, it really is now or never, I realize with anxiety.

The militiamen are already on and about to get up from their chairs, when Troy clears his throat once more. “One more thing, though, on a personal note...”

Everyone turns their heads back to Troy, sitting down once more.

Troy shoots me a quick glance, and even though he’s still keeping up his usual military demeanor, I spot a quick flicker in his eyes, giving away his nervousness.

Concealing my own worries, I nod at him encouragingly, flashing him a smile.

“Nick and I have an announcement to make,” he starts as he turns back to the others, letting his eyes roam across the room. “We...”

The militiamen are looking back at him with neutral faces.

Troy’s eyes grow distant. “We, uhm...”

Seconds go by.

Coop scratches his cheek. Alex crosses her legs. Jimmy takes a gulp from his water bottle.

“We...” Troy goes for a new try, but immediately, his voice dies down again.

He can’t do it, I realize with shock. He just can’t do it. God, I’ve been such a selfish idiot forcing this on him! What was I thinking?

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to. I shouldn’t have pushed him! After all, he’s been living here so much longer than me, he’s the one who knows the people here, not me. Eventually, it should have been _his_ decision!

It doesn’t have to be now. Maybe it doesn’t have to be at all. We’ve been happy so far. Why was I so keen on getting more? Why take a risk to improve something that’s basically already perfect just the way it is?

I said it myself. I’m basically living at his place anyway. I already got everything I want!

“Alright, so thanks for building up the tension, Troy!” I chip in, strolling over to him leisurely, smirking, as if Troy’s hemming and hawing had been part of the plan all along. “So here’s the big reveal,” I say, turning to the others. “We’re going to cover all the night shifts this weekend!”

Troy turns his head towards me, eyes widening in confusion and disbelief.

I don’t return the look. That would only make people suspicious about what’s actually going on. So I keep up my bold grin. “Everyone who was assigned a night shift on Friday or Saturday can look forward to enjoying their weekend instead.”

Now that the beans have (seemingly) been spilled, everyone starts applauding and cheering.

“But how’s that?” Jimmy wants to know. “I mean, it’s cool, but... _why_?”

I give him the very first explanation I can think of. “It was a stupid bet with Jake. We lost.” Luckily, no one’s curious on what this bet was about, so I don’t have to come up with any more lies. Instead I raise my fist in mock-excitement. “So night shifts for us it is. Yaaay!”

 

“You must think I’m a total idiot and a coward,” Troy whispers as I join him by the fence outside the barracks minutes later.

“I’m the idiot here,” I tell him with an apologetic look. “We already have everything we need. Us. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I pressured you into doing something you didn’t wanna do.”

“No, you didn’t. You were right about everything,” Troy insists. “I just chickened out...” He turns his head to me. “I want to live with you, Nick. I want to so badly. I just...”

“It’s okay,” I reply quietly, shaking my head. “Let’s just postpone it for the time being, okay? We still got our whole lives ahead of us. There’s no need to rush.”

He gives me a little smile of relief, and for the first time since I started this, I feel my mind at ease as well. Yes. It’s okay the way it is.

Eventually I shrug. “I fear we won’t get out of that night shift thing anymore, though... Sorry.”

This gets Troy to chuckle. “You know, that’s really a small price to pay, considering…”

“You’re a couple, aren’t you.”

A voice reaches us from the distance, and we both freeze immediately. For a second, I’m convinced I’d misheard. But the words keep resounding in my head. Staring at each other in shock, we turn around.

From the barrack entrance, Coop and the rest of the militia have emerged, now coming towards us.

I feel my heart sink, swallowing hard.

“That’s what you were _actually_ planning on telling us, wasn’t it?” Coop wants to know.

What the hell?! What _on earth_ would make him say that? How _on earth_ would he _know_?!

I’m too dumbfounded to reply, not to mention _react_ in any way.

Alex on the other hand shoots us an encouraging smile.

“I... uhm...” is all I manage to mutter eventually, struggling to come up with a way to deny it. Any way! But tragically, my mind has gone completely blank.

“How?” Troy suddenly asks next to me, voice clear but also a little more shaky than usual. And I startle. With just one word, he’s effectively confirmed their theory. “How do you know?”

Coop shrugs. “We didn’t _know_.” Looking at the others. “But we had our suspicions. I mean after all, we’re basically spending every day with you guys. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice all those little glances and smiles you keep shooting at each other?”

I gasp. _Little glances and smiles?!_ No way! We never glance and smile at each other when we’re with the militia! I mean… Uhm… Well, at least we’re always very stealthy about it!!

“Not to mention the fact you seem to be spending every minute of your free time together,” Cory adds. “And not just during the days.”

God… They know. They really know! They’ve figured us out weeks, maybe even months ago! And we’ve been totally oblivious to it… We’ve been worrying about how they might react, when in truth, they’ve been reacting all this time...

I suddenly feel an anxious shiver running down my spine, then I turn my eyes to Troy, worried how he might take this.

He doesn’t return my glance, but his face is pale as he keeps staring at the militiamen. “How long have you been suspecting?!”

Pam shrugs. “For a while. But what does it matter? We always knew it should be your choice to tell us or not.”

Still speechless, he and I share a look, and for a moment I wonder which one of us is doing the worse job at covering their panic.

Then Troy shakes his head, turning back at his men. “And you’re cool with it? Just like that?” Voice full of disbelief.

“Well, this is your business, not ours,” Paul points out. “Why would we stick our noses into your personal lives?”

Coop nods with a serious face. “Exactly. I mean objectively, this would only affect us if it affected your work here with the militia. But as far as we know, this has been going on for months and I never had the impression this thing between you had any kind of impact on our missions. I never felt you were only looking out for each other during fights and not caring about the rest of us. That’s all that matters to me.”

His words surprise, impress and move me all at the same time. And I can’t express the sympathy and gratitude I feel as the others start nodding in agreement.

“Guys…” I murmur softly, shaking my head in total surprise. “This is really how you feel?”

“Well,” Pam puts her hands on her hips in mock-reproach. “In all honesty, I think you could have told us sooner.”

_Seriously? That’s all she has to say about this?_

“If this gives you a reason to fight even harder for our cause?” Cory shrugs. “Good for us!”

_Wow, thanks, man! And it does!_

“My brother was gay,” Liam points out.

_Oh, so I did remember correctly!_

“I think you're always so cute around each other...” Alex chuckles.

_We are?!_

Jimmy nods at us with a shrug. “Well, I wouldn’t be picky anymore either if it meant finding someone in the New World.”

_Uhm… Thanks... I guess..._

“Seriously, guys,” Troy hisses eventually, still totally overwhelmed. “I don’t even know what to say… This means the world to us.” And for the first time ever since I started with all that moving in crap, I spot a smile on his face. And it’s an honest smile, full of happiness and relief.

And that makes me so incredibly happy as well.

“But I guess that wasn’t actually the big announcement you had for us, was it?” Coop goes on eventually, eying us curiously.

Oh, _right_... Well, now that our morning has taken quite the unexpected turn anyway, it might be okay to tell them after all?

I’m just about to open my mouth, when Troy’s already in the middle of replying.

“No, it wasn’t,” he admits quickly, shooting me a look. Then he turns back to Coop and the rest of the militia and says with absolute confidence and without hesitating a second: “Nick and I were actually thinking of moving in together.”

“Moving in together?” Pam repeats, impressed. “Wow, such a big step!”

Coop on the other hand just grins. “Oh, did you hear that guys?” Turning around to the rest of his colleagues. “The big Otto house is gonna be on the market soon!”

I can almost physically sense Troy relaxing, as Coop starts joking.

“Oh, you wish,” Troy deadpans, and I grin as suddenly they all start making mock-claims on specific rooms to move in with their families.

“Well, hate to disappoint you guys,” I interrupt them eventually, “but if you’re all so keen on sharing a roof, the cottage is all yours. I’m sure there’ll be a square inch for everyone.”

Everyone keeps joking on about that for a while, until Jimmy blinks at us, curiously.

“So, for the record,” he says slowly. “Your offer to take the night shifts on the weekend still stands?”

Troy and I share a surprised look.

“Well, I’d say it does,” I shrug eventually, looking at Troy for confirmation.

He nods at me determinedly.

After all their support and friendly words, this is the least we can do to show them our gratitude.

“Absolutely,” Troy nods. “We’re gonna cover all the shifts on Friday and Saturday night.”

That’s the news everyone’s been hoping for, so immediately they’re all smiling happily and giving us the thumbs-up.

“But remember, guys,” Paul reminds us with mock-strictness. “Patrol means keeping watch and protecting the fences. Not secretly making out under the starlit sky all night!”

Troy and I immediately raise our voices in loud protest, while the rest of the militia just bursts out laughing.

“It’s really amazing you’re all so cool about this,” I say eventually, smiling at all of them fondly. “I just wish there was a guarantee the rest of the ranch will see it like that as well.”

“Well, and even if they don’t… So what?” Coop counters with a shrug. “I wouldn’t worry too much about them.”

“Well,” I want to object, but Coop interrupts me once more.

“First of all: It’s none of their business,” he points out. “Secondly: It’s none of their business! And thirdly…” He shrugs, then shoots me a smirk. “We’re the militia. What the _hell_ are they gonna do about it?”

For a moment, I’m so perplexed at this logic, I just stare at him wide-eyed. Then, after a few blinks, I can’t help chuckling. In the weirdest sort of way, he kinda does have a point…

Troy seems to think so as well, as suddenly I feel his eyes on me. I turn my head to look at him, and his eyes are basically shining with joy and affection.

“So what do you say, Nick Clark?” he asks me, grinning at me softly. “Ready to take a chance on a new home?”

I hold his eyes for a moment, then return the smile, giving him a determined nod. “Hell yeah! I’ll start packing first thing tomorrow!”

“Night shifts…” Pam reminds me with an innocent cough.

“Monday!” I correct myself hastily. Then shoot them all a grin. “First thing Monday.”


	12. Home (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with the second part of the chapter! Prepare for major fluff this time - a little breather before the ranch finally finds out... ;)  
> And you probably shouldn't read this chapter on an empty stomach, there's a lot of food and eating involved :)  
> Enjoy!!

We don’t make it on Monday.

Taking that many night shifts in a row is more tiring and exhausting than anticipated, so Troy and I are basically out of order for the next few days, keeping watch at night and sleeping through the day with the blinds shut like a pair of vampires.

And yet, no matter how beat and tired we are, every once in a while the amazing excitement and joy about the moving would come to our minds, and then a face would light up somewhere by the fence and a radiant smile find a certain someone across nightly fields.

It takes us till Wednesday to take the time to actually sit down and come up with a plan.

Generally, coming out to the militia has been the best choice we could have made. Having this load taken off him, Troy’s been a changed person ever since, now all thrilled and happy about this prospect, talking about little else than how amazing our future life together is going to be.

It goes without saying for the both of us that we’re not going to move into Jeremiah’s bedroom, even though it’s the biggest room on the first floor. Thank God, cause I have to admit, the mere thought of sleeping in the bed of the man I murdered – not to mention having sex there with _his_ _son_ – is so wrong, I physically feel the urge to gag.

Luckily, there’s no shortage of rooms in this big house, so we got a few alternatives. There is a pretty nice guest room that also has a king-sized bed – and since it was rarely used it feels like a neutral room to both of us. So it doesn’t take long until we settle for it and decide to make it our future bedroom.

On top of that, I’m also getting my own room. I mean this is supposed to become my _home_ , and in my opinion, you can’t really feel at home anywhere if you don’t have some sort of sanctuary just for yourself, a place to retreat to when you’re sad or tired or sick, in dire need for peace and silence or simply in a fight with your boyfriend.

Accordingly, Troy will also be keeping his room – the room he’s been living in ever since he was a kid, so I learn. When Jake and Troy were little, they used to share it. Later, Jake got his own room next to their common one, which then became Troy’s alone. As a high school student, Jake moved once more and started living in the big attic room, while Troy still remained in his original one. It’s the mini version of their whole lives, I notice, but don’t say it out loud: Jake, setting out into the world, learning new things everywhere – and Troy, staying behind, clinging to the place fate put him in.

So Jake’s old room next to Troy’s is gonna become mine: It’s an excellent choice since it’s already furnished with a bed, a big wardrobe and lots of shelves, but all of them empty since Jake naturally took all his stuff with him when he moved to the attic room.

With everything planned like this, we decide on Friday for the actual move. As expected, Nathan and Clara can’t believe their ears when I tell them about the cottage. And even though they refuse in the beginning, in the end they are super happy and grateful about getting a place of their own. I know my little house will be in good hands with them, and that’s indeed very important to me, since – no matter how tough and nonchalant I acted around Troy –, the cottage is my baby and will always be dear to my heart.

So I have to admit, I’m feeling a little blue on my last night out here on the hillside. I insisted on spending it alone – saying goodbye to this place is something I need to do on my own. The few things that actually did come into my possession ever since we arrived at the ranch with nothing but the clothes we were wearing are quickly packed in boxes. The only things left to grab in the morning will be the bedsheets.

Everything else will remain here at the cottage. The furniture, the mini fridge, and – as much as it pains me – also things with sentimental value like the camping cooker Troy gave to me as a gift or the large, heavy picture we struggled so hard to hang on the wall (“Oh, enough with the puppy eyes! We’re NOT gonna take that thing to the house!”… Troy was pretty clear about that).

So when I finally lie there in my bed in the darkness of the room, I take in all the familiar noises one final time – the low humming of the fridge, the gentle breeze against the shingles, the soft chirping of the crickets outside.

I close my eyes and think back to everything that has happened in here ever since it became mine:

Jeremiah and me, covered in soot, cleaning the walls. Luci and me having our candlelight picnic – our farewell night, even though I didn’t know. Me replacing the door and the windows, spending day after day fixing the roof, rending the walls, cutting floor boards. Watching the ruin grow back into a house. Troy knocking at the door in the middle of the night after we shared our very first kiss, the fake one. Him unexpectedly wrapping his arms around me to comfort me when I was on the verge of breaking with worry for my family. Alicia and me sitting outside the door drinking beer when I took heart and confessed my feelings for Troy to her. Jake lending me a hand fixing the shingles. Troy and I rushing through the door, laughing manically, clothes soaked from the cloudburst. Fingers running through damp hair, warm skin against mine.

I try to smile as I wait for sleep to come.

_Well, it’s not like those memories are physically tied to the cottage, Troy. They’ll always stay with us, in our hearts._

I know. Rolling over to my side.

And yet…

 

***

 

In the morning, Troy picks me up at the cottage with the truck. Quickly carrying my boxes to the car, I try not to dwell too much on the thought that I’m actually closing the door for the last time in a long while, maybe even forever. Troy’s pretty chipper, though, and that definitely helps to raise my spirits.

I’m surprised we don’t get any looks, even though we’re practically crossing the entire ranch with a loading area full of moving boxes. The only ones even just raising their heads are Paul and Cory on their way to the watchtower, who immediately offer to lend us a hand if we need any help carrying the boxes.

“They just wanna poke their noses in our rooms,” Troy suspects quickly, even though I can see in his eyes that he totally appreciates the offer.

It’s only five boxes, so we’re good on our own. Not even five minutes after we arrived at the house, they’re already stacked in the corner of my room. There is no time to unpack, though, since Troy has to leave for shooting practice, whereas I’m assigned to a quick supply run with Pam and Jimmy before meeting up with Nathan and Clara to hand them over the keys.

Mom said she could use my coffee mugs from the cottage, so I decide to drop them off at the bunkhouse once I’m done with all my chores in the afternoon.

To my surprise, it’s Alicia opening the door.

“Hey Nick,” she greets me quickly. “Thought you were busy moving house?”

“There’s not that much to move,” I explain with a shrug. Then shoot her a grin. “My life in five boxes. Minus four mugs.” Handing her the small package with the coffee mugs.

“Mom!” Alicia calls. “Nick’s here with the cups you wanted.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her quickly. “I don’t wanna keep you guys. I’m just on my way to Tro–,” clearing my throat, “on my way home anyway.”

“Okay,” she nods. “Let us know if there’s anything we can help you guys with.”

“Thanks,” I smile, appreciating. “Will do.”

“Otherwise we’ll see each other for dinner?”

“Na, not tonight,” I shake my head. “Troy and I will be celebrating the move – and we’ll be cooking,” I inform her not without pride.

Alicia however just gives me a skeptical look. “Cooking?” she repeats. And adding a little off-handedly: “Somehow I find the thought of Troy in an apron very disturbing.”

I frown, raising my eyebrows at her sarcastically. “Somehow I find the thought of _you_ _picturing my boyfriend_ in an apron very disturbing,” I counter, getting her to stick out her tongue at me.

“So what’s on the menu?” Alicia asks eventually, the playful look still on her face.

“Spaghetti,” I tell her proudly. “Italian pasta for a romantic dinner.”

“Please don’t burn down the entire ranch…” That’s my mom’s voice chipping in from the other room, and seconds later her head pops up in the doorframe.

“Mom!” I call her, reproachfully. “I do know how to cook.”

“You do?” Alicia asks me with honest surprise, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” I insist, rolling my eyes. “I’ve cooked before.”

Mom now joins us by the door. “Yeah you have,” she confirms – _finally some support!_ – before specifying: “You were in third grade.” _I take that back..._

“And it was _mac and cheese_ …” Alicia reminds me, leaving the words hanging in the air.

I sigh. “My _supportive_ family...” Shooting them a reproachful look. “Seriously, guys! Anyone who can read a recipe can cook. All you gotta do is follow the instructions. Piece a’cake!”

“Maybe you wanna do a double date with Alicia and Jake?” Mom suggests. “I’d feel so much better if I knew there were two adults around...”

Alicia bursts into laughter.

“Okay...” I lower my head, pursing my lips. Now I really know they’re making fun of me. “Thanks...”

They both keep on snickering merrily.

“Now that you had your fun,” I interrupt them with a mock-huff. “If you’ll excuse me. I got a dinner to prepare.”

“Have fun,” Mom tells me, now genuine and soft, turning around to head back into the other room.

“And remember,” Alicia whispers at me secretively, “No texting while driving, and no screw–“ cutting herself off as she suddenly notices Mom still standing next to her, “scrubbing the floor while cooking,” she finishes with an innocent grin.

I can’t help chuckling at this questionable adage. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks...” Then turn around and wave at them, as I start heading off.

“And don’t forget to reduce the heat once the pasta water is boiling!” Mom can’t stop herself from calling after me.

“Mom!” I just reprimand her, shooting her one more reproachful look over my shoulder – in my head however quickly taking the note: _Reduce heat once pasta water boils!_

“Yeah, yeah,” she counters sheepishly. “Enjoy the spaghetti!”

 

***

 

About ten minutes later, I knock on Troy’s – no, _our_ – door. Feels strange saying that. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that.

I hear footsteps inside, then he opens and my eyes light up just as much as his.

“Hey,” I greet.

“Hey,” he replies, but instead of inviting me in, he unexpectedly joins me outside.

With a quick gesture, he pulls the door shut behind him and locks it – as if we were heading out to have dinner at the canteen after all.

“Woah, wait,” I protest, already feeling my romantic Italian pasta candlelight dinner fantasies shatter to pieces. “I thought we were planning on cooking?”

He looks at me for a second, then chuckles. “We are. But first...” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little object, handing it to me. “Why don’t you let us in?”

The key.

I can’t help shooting him a blissful smile as I accept it – a quick casual moment, yet the significance of it sends a shiver down my spine.

For the first time in my life I’m taking that big step of moving in together with a lover. For the first time I’ll actually be sharing every little aspect of boring, blunt everyday life with the one I love. Cleaning the house. Doing common laundry. Sharing a bathroom. The thought’s amazing and frightening at the same time.

The metal of the key feels unfamiliar and cold in my hands.

“This used to be Jake’s, by the way,” Troy points out softly. “It wasn’t Otto’s, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” I reply, suddenly feeling a bit short-breathed, “but good to know.”

“Jake’s using our dad’s key now.” He looks at me for a moment, then directs the conversation in a different direction. “Yeah, so for the record, Jake has a key, too, naturally, and will always keep one. It’s also his house after all. Just wanted to let you know, so you can keep it in mind.”

“Before anything embarrassing happens,” I finish his sentence, then shoot him a playful grin. “Duly noted.”

He returns the smile, appreciating, then points at the door fondly. “Alright, now as for the opening ceremony...”

“Alright,” I agree, taking a deep breath as if I was bracing myself for a tricky challenge, then slowly put the key into the lock. I turn it. _Click_.

And the door swings open.

Troy gestures for me to enter. “After you,” he whispers, voice excited and moved at the same time as he follows me inside.

I stop right in the corridor, swallowing. I’ve entered the house through this door a thousand times, I spent weeks here without returning to the cottage even just once. And yet, it feels as if I’d set foot inside this house for the very first time. _Our_ house. Also implying: _My_ house.

“Home sweet home...” I whisper, a bit lost for a moment, but then he wraps his arm around my shoulder, rubbing my back encouragingly.

I feel him kiss my head casually, and I lean in to him automatically, his warmth soothing against my side. “Welcome home.”

 

The strange feeling from earlier is gone as soon as we get settled in the kitchen, since now there’s chatting, kidding and laughter, as always. We’re back to normalcy and that’s a good thing. For the first time I actually manage to wrap my head around the fact that I’m actually _living_ here now, and the thought eventually feels less threatening and more exciting.

For a short, symbolic moment, I realize the metal key in my pocket feels significantly warmer now.

“Alright, so let’s get started,” Troy suggests, rolling up his sleeves, effectively keeping me from brooding any more over this topic. “What do you want to start with?”

“Well,” I quickly skim the recipe once more, then turn to him. “If you’re okay with it, you could start dicing the vegetables – and I’ll go ahead and fry the minced meat?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Troy agrees, taking the peeler and the kitchen knife, while I start heating a bit of oil in a pot.

“Nice,” I comment a little off-handedly, as he starts peeling the carrots and dices them together with the celery. “I was starting to fear you might consider a plain kitchen knife beneath you.”

He shoots me a surprised look, then shrugs with a snicker. “Well, basically a kitchen knife is just a small machete.”

A… what?! Immediately I burst into laughter. Okay, that was so _Troy_.

He just raises his eyebrows at me. “Well, it’s true! A sharp blade used to chop things… That’s right up my alley!”

“Tehehe!” I grin at him, chuckling. “Then less babbling and more chopping.” Clapping my hands twice. “Chop-chop!” And snickering playfully as I swiftly evade him kicking at me underneath the counter.

The oil is seething by now and I eventually drop the meat into the pot, turning up the heat.

Troy on the other hand grabs a small pan, melts a piece of butter in it and – just like it said on the recipe – adds the carrot and celery dices, cooking them slowly as he moves on to take care of the onion.

I’m leisurely breaking up the minced meat as I stir, watching him as he cuts the vegetable in half, removes the skin and starts slicing the first half from top to bottom, careful however not to slice it all the way through but leave out a tiny bit at the end, so that all the slices remain connected at the root. He then rotates the sliced onion by 90 degrees and starts slicing away, cutting against the strips, so the new slices come off in tiny, even dices.

Impressed, I shoot him a look. “Nice technique,” I whistle, raising my eyebrow. “YouTube tutorial?”

“Martha,” he replies with a grin. “As kids, Jake and I used to spend a lot of time at the cottage, playing. Sometimes Martha would make us help her with the cooking.” I notice a soft smile on his lips as he keeps on chopping. “Haven’t done this in decades, and I’m sure it could be done in a more elegant way than this.”

“Well,” I snort with a huff, “you should see _me_ dice an onion.”

He chuckles at that good-naturedly, then takes a step back, inviting me to take his place and give it a shot myself. “Come on.”

“Oh, no, thanks,” I decline. “You don’t wanna witness that. Me dicing an onion always ends up in tears – and I’m not talking the smell. I’m talking tears of pain and frustration.”

He chuckles amusedly. “Come on,” he insists anyway. “I’ll show you.”

One look in his eyes and my reluctance crumbles to dust. “Alright,” I sigh, stepping at the cutting board and taking the knife from his hands. “So what now?”

And right at this moment, I feel his arms wrap around me, hands covering mine as they start guiding me to take the second onion half, remove the skin and set it down on the board.

“Now, gently,” he whispers, lips close to my ear, guiding my hand to slice the onion. “Careful not to touch the root. It’s what’s holding the layers in place.”

Cut, cut, cut. His moves are slow, careful and diligent, but all I can think of is how incredible his body feels against mine, his warmth all around me, making me feel so safe and comfortable in his embrace.

It’s funny. When he did this with Ofelia at the shooting practice, I found it ridiculous and pathetic. Now that I’m the one sharing this tender moment with him, I wish we could stay like this forever.

I find myself humming dreamily as I lean back against him, my hand moving on its own, like in a trance.

“And here you go, all done,” his voice eventually brings me back to reality. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, not at all,” I reply automatically, stammering a bit since my mind is still busy indulging in that wonderful embrace... “It was actually pretty... _Ouch_!”

He’s given me a clap on the back of my head. “You weren’t even paying attention!” he accuses me, but in his face I can see he’s in fact mostly amused and maybe also a little flattered by my reaction.

“Well,” I reply, turning around to face him before slowly moving closer. Letting my hand slide to the back of his neck, I whisper with a low, seductive voice: “Can you actually blame me?”

“I blame you for pretty much everything,” he replies just as darkly, but draws back a little before my lips can touch his. “Even though in this case you may not be at fault,” he informs me teasingly. “I heard a man who knows how to cook is pretty sexy.”

“Huh…” I reply off-handedly, finally closing the distance between us and catching his lips in a slow but passionate kiss. Immediately I feel his hand on my hip, sliding lower. “Is that so?” I whisper eventually, completely losing myself in this moment, until all of a sudden he stops.

“Is it supposed to smell like that?” he asks, voice back to normal, and I’m quick to spin round and grab the next-best glass of water to deglaze the meat.

 _Whew, that was close!_ The meat’s indeed significantly browned, but luckily it’s not burnt yet, so it comes off the bottom of the pot easily as I scrape carefully.

You may say now that’s a really clichéd thing to happen. I on the other hand say it’s not clichéd at all. It’s logical – since it’s what’s bound to happen when you leave your frying meat unsupervised.

 _No screwing while cooking_ , I hear Alicia’s mocking voice in my head once more.

 _Yeah, yeah, duly noted_ , I think, stirring the meat a bit sheepishly.

Troy adds our diced onion to the carrot and the celery, now softly stirring as well.

“By the way,” I say eventually, taking another peek at the recipe. “It says I should have used a bit of white wine to deglaze the meat. Are you okay with me adding some now?” Turning my eyes to him. “We can leave it out if you prefer.”

“Just add it,” he assures me easily. “There alcohol will vaporize anyway.”

“Damn it!” I counter with a mock-sigh as I grab a bottle of wine and pour a little dash of the liquid into the sauce. “So much for my plan to get you drunk on Spaghetti Bolognese and then take advantage of you...”

“Or you could just ask...” he then suggests with a grin.

“Will keep that in mind,” I snicker softly, before pouring a little bit of milk into the pot to make the sauce more creamy. Next up are the tomatoes. I cut them quickly, then add them to the mix as well.

Once all of that’s simmering neatly, Troy takes his pan with the diced vegetables and pours them into my sauce as well. I stir thoroughly, while he adds a bit of pepper, salt and chili — and done we are.

Of course, they say a real Bolognese needs to be cooked for hours to develop its characteristic consistency and taste. Troy and I however decide to go with the version for impatient people, cooking it just as long as the pasta needs to be ready.

For that, Troy’s already in the middle of filling another pot with water, turning up the heat to get it to boil.

“Hey, wanna taste test?” I ask him as I take a spoonful of sauce, blowing at it to cool it a little.

He smiles at me as he leans in and with a soft chuckle I feed him the sauce. Then I look at him curiously, waiting for his opinion.

He chews and swallows, then grins at me. “Tastes good,” he praises, almost surprised by it himself. “Really good.”

I take another spoonful of sauce, this time trying it myself. And he’s right. I don’t know if it’s the moment, the special day of my moving in, or just the fun and excitement of us actually cooking something together, but it tastes excellent, hot and spicy, at the same time creamy and milky. The perfect Bolognese.

“So all that’s left is the noodles,” Troy points out as he pours the spaghetti into the boiling water. “Can’t wait to eat.”

The water starts foaming eventually, splashing on the hotplate more and more with every passing second.

And in the back of my head, some obscure thought starts stirring innocently. _Reduce heat once pasta water boils…_

“Wait, Troy,” I say, reaching for the controls and turning the heat down. “We have to reduce the heat as soon as the pasta water boils,” I lecture him, acting as if I’d known all along.

“Hmmmh,” is all he replies, eying me for a long moment. Then I realize there’s actually a smirk on his face. “Sexy indeed.”

This time I’m the one giving him a clap on the head. “Now _you_ aren’t paying attention!” I counter, grinning as he starts laughing, before giving me a peck on the cheek.

“And once again, you’re to blame.”

 

Eventually, the pasta is ready as well, and once it’s drained, I just can’t resist. Taking one of the spaghetti, I turn to Troy, putting one end of the noodle into my mouth. “Lady and the Tramp!” I demand, closing my eyes and puckering my lips.

“Seriously?” I hear Troy’s voice next to me, then he sighs.

For a few seconds, nothing at all happens, then eventually I feel the other end of the noodle being lifted. I wait giddily, expecting warm lips against mine at any moment, when suddenly I feel the noodle flicked at my nose. With a growl, I open my eyes.

Troy’s already turned to the cupboard. “Are you sure it was just a _dash_ of wine you added to the sauce…?” he muses, shooting me a sarcastic grin over his shoulder, as he collects plates, forks and spoons.

“Yeah, but I’m starting to get the feeling I should have added more…” I counter ominously, poking my tongue out at him.

He just laughs out at that, leaving for the dining room  to set the table.

I follow him a few moments later, carrying two wine glasses from the kitchen, then fill mine with the rest of the wine we had with Victor a few weeks ago and Troy’s with his mandatory cherry juice.

Taking a long look at the dining room, a sweet feeling of warmth starts spreading within my heart: The table’s neatly set with the best dishware, the one we also used for Christmas. The room itself lies in cozy darkness, the only source of light being the single candle lit on the table. Romantic.

There is one tiny issue I notice though: Troy’s put our plates on opposite sides of the table. While this may objectively be correct, this is a romantic dinner, not some business lunch. So I quickly grab my plate and move it closer to his, eventually setting it down right at the corner next to Troy.

“Oh, right, good idea,” he comments, as he returns from the kitchen with the Bolognese. “I knew it felt weird somehow.”

I smile at him as he fills our plates, and once we eventually sit down, we let our knees rest against each other.

For a moment he just smiles at me lovingly, as if he wanted to capture this moment and keep it forever in his heart.

“What?” I chuckle eventually, smiling at him.

I wish I could hold on to this moment, too: The flickering light of the candle reflected in his dark eyes, the messy hair, the sexy beard... Once again I realize he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And God, he’s mine.

Apparently, Troy’s been indulging in quite the similar thought.

“You know you have the most charming smile in the world?” he suddenly says, and I’m so perplexed at this compliment, I don’t even know how to react. I’m smiling, but his words made me strangely self-aware of that.

“I love you,” I tell him honestly.

“I love you, too, Nicky,” he replies with a fond look, then takes his wine glass and raises it. “To us?” he toasts, and I gaze at him for a few blinks – love, happiness, gratitude, all mixing in my eyes.

“And to our future,” I add, clinking glasses with him.

We’re both enjoying the food, talking and joking as usual, and even though it all feels so casual, so natural, I know it’s a whole new chapter of my life that has just begun.

About half an hour later – our plates are long empty –, Troy gives me a long glance, an unreadable smile suddenly forming on his face. “So, Nick… Curious to see your room?”

 “Curious?” I repeat, blinking. “Well, I’ve just seen it this morning,” I point out, resting my chin on my hand with a smirk. “Unless my boxes have magically unpacked themselves...”

“No,” he admits with a guilty chuckle, “unfortunately, they haven’t.” Then shrugs. “Might be worth taking a look at it still.”

“Alright?” I agree eventually, unsure what to expect, and not even a minute later I’m following him upstairs, and around the corner, stopping right in front of my room.

Fingers on the door handle, he gives me a long, sheepish grin before he pushes it open. “Look, you don’t have to keep it that way, I promise. It’s _your_ room, after all. This is just one possible suggestion.”

The door swings open and at first, I don’t notice any changes at all. My boxes still stacked in the corner, the shelves and the wardrobe just as sad and empty as this morning.

Then however I spot them. The photos.

A whole bunch of framed pictures, neatly hung on the wall opposite us, and the scenes and moments I spot there, truly take my breath away.

 _No way_ , I think, staggering towards them like in a trance. For a second, a whole bunch of emotions starts surging over me. Melancholy. Homesickness. _Loss_.

Then I feel Troy’s fingers interlacing with mine, clutching my hand firmly, his chin resting on my shoulder, his warmth so comforting and reassuring – and I know if it weren’t for his closeness, there would be nothing to keep my heart from breaking.

There’s Alicia and me grinning into the camera arm in arm, her with short hair and me still wearing my braces. God, that was ages ago!

Mom and Alicia looking so beautiful in their fancy dresses at the end-of-course dance of Alicia’s dancing lessons.

Me – maybe aged five or six – building a sandcastle at the beach with Dad. Alicia as a toddler next to us. I’d been so proud that day, convinced I’d been of essential help to him, while in truth I was probably much rather slowing him down.

A view of our house, our car parked in front of it.

Alicia and me on the open-air stage at one of the summer camps, performing an old Bob Dylan song.

Aunt Su-Su reading a story to Alicia.

Me and a bunch of friends posing for the camera, wearing sixties hats, shirts and ties for our Mafia-themed party. (I’m pretty sure Troy wasn’t aware that this girl with the short blonde hair I’ve wrapped my arm around is actually Gloria, or else he’s probably the only person in the world who would put up a picture of their boyfriend’s ex in their boyfriend’s room.)

Mom, Travis, Alicia and me, and all of our neighbors gathered around the dining table on Mom’s fortieth birthday.

Mom and Dad lounging in our garden chairs wearing sunglasses.

I can’t believe all those photos still exist… Seeing them hurts and warms my heart at the same time. “Gosh… Where did you get these?” I whisper speechless, unable to take my eyes off them.

“Alicia,” Troy explains softly. “And the USB drive she retrieved from your house. I asked her to compile a selection for me and she picked the ones she thought you might like best.”

 _Like_ doesn’t even come close to describe what I’m feeling right now.

And then, to my utter surprise, an entirely different picture catches my eyes: It’s the photo of Troy and me in front of Jake’s house, toasting at the camera with the coke cans – the one that’s also on Troy’s nightstand.

And next to it, a photo of the cottage I didn’t even know existed. “Did you take that…” I start, trail off however as my eyes come to rest on one more new picture: A photo of the huge and heavy art work we put up in the cottage. “No way!”

“Well, I thought if you can’t take it with you, you should at least have a miniature version of it on your wall,” he points out, then chuckles. “For the record, this version was the easier one to put up.”

I stare at it for a few more blinks, then suddenly I spin round, wrapping my arms around him tightly. “Thank you!” I whisper, deeply moved. “I don’t know what to say...”

“You like it?” he asks hopefully.

“I _love_ it, Troy,” I assure him, closing my eyes as I nuzzle against his hair. I have no way of telling whether I’m so touched by this very moment because of the memories the pictures stirred up inside of me or rather because of the fact he came up with this idea and went through so much trouble to prepare this surprise for me.

“A wise man once told me,” he murmurs softly, “that even when you lose a home, the memories you made there won’t ever be lost. They’ll stay with you forever, because they’re not tied to the place, but kept right here, in your heart.”

“A wise man indeed,” I reply, voice suddenly shaky, and he tightens his arms around me.

“All I want,” he whispers, “is for you to feel at home here.”

“I do,” I assure him, short-breathed.

_With your loved ones around, any place can be home._

“I _am_.”

 

***

 

“Sooo, what about your magical glimpse into the future?” Troy asks me curiously, taking a bite of his slice of bread. “Did you get it?”

We’re in the middle of having breakfast – and, since we both got Saturday morning off as compensation for our strenuous night shifts last weekend, having breakfast _in bed_ , to mark the occasion. So not even twenty minutes ago, Troy went outside to get some stuff from the canteen, whereas I took care of brewing the coffee.

Now we’re back upstairs in my room – where we spent last night – sitting cross-legged on the soft bed as if it were an over-sized picnic blanket, the tray with our food between us. And it’s quite the impressive selection we got here: There’s freshly roasted toast, butter, handmade apricot jam, fresh milk, orange juice and crispy bacon.

And to top the morning idyll off, my window is facing east, so the room around us is filled with bright, golden morning sun.

Putting my coffee mug down, I grin at him. “My magical glimpse into the future,” I repeat with a chuckle. “Well, I did have a dream…”

We’ve been joking about this last night, when I’d told him about this old legend saying that the dream you dream on your first night in your new home will come true.

“Oh, tell me!” he demands immediately, taking a sip of his orange juice. “If it determines my future as well, I have the right to know.”

 “Alright,” I chuckle, putting down my toast with apricot jam as I clear my throat to give the moment its due solemnity. “So picture this: It’s the year 2055. I’m sixty five years old, you’re pushing seventy. You look exactly like your father, I look like Sean Connery.”

“Give me a break…” he hisses, raising his eyebrows at me.

I can’t help grinning, but continue unfazed nevertheless. “We’re sitting on rocking chairs outside the house on the porch, overlooking the ranch. There are children playing by the trailers, amongst them our grandnephews and -nieces.”

“Grandnephews and -nieces…” he repeats.

“Yeah,” I shrug. “Alicia and Jake had kids. Two kids. First a girl, then a boy. The girl’s already married herself, she had twins. The boy is with Ofelia’s and Walker’s daughter. Their kid is still a toddler, struggling to keep up with the rest of the kids as they all run for the swings.”

“You’re making this up,” he accuses me good-naturedly.

I ignore him. “We still have sex, too, by the way.” Wiggling my eyebrows, then I shrug. “Of course, things don’t always work out as smoothly anymore as they did when we were in our twenties. But that’s another advantage of two guys: There’s twice the chance at least one of them gets the job done.”

That gets him to burst into a round of laughter.

“But it’s okay,” I nod. “We’re having a sense of humor about it. Because that’s also an important thing about us: We’ve been through so much shit, of course, but we still never grew into a pair of old, grumpy, bitter men. We’ve never stopped looking at the bright side of life.”

“That would indeed be nice…” he admits, slowly stirring his coffee.

“We’re not really fighting walkers anymore, but sometimes, when we miss it, we would take the sniper rifles, aim beyond the fence and take a few of them down right from up here on the porch. You know, just for old time’s sake.”

That’s the kind of thought Troy especially appreciates, naturally.

“Not today, though,” I go on. “Today we’re just sitting there in peace, looking forward to the afternoon. It’s Tuesday, and Tuesday means Coop comes tottering by our house with his rollator to play cards. You need routines in your life, after all.”

Chuckling once more at that, Troy shakes his head. “You’re making this all up. No way you actually dreamt that!”

I can’t help snickering, looking up at him with shining eyes. “Nah, I didn’t,” I confess, then smile. “But it would have been nice, wouldn’t it?”


	13. The Rules of the New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so as requested by several people, here we finally go with the ranchers finding out!! (It actually is the third chapter of the "people finding out" stories I talked about, but since the mood is quite different from the previous two, I decided not to name it "Home (Part 3)" after all)  
> I have to admit, it's easier to babble about them fluffily cooking dinner together than facing discrimination, so this chapter took me a bit longer to finish... Sorry! I hope it still turned out alright, even though it's a rather sensitive topic. I guess in the New World, there's just no real black and white anymore.  
> Hope you'll enjoy! It's mostly a Nick focused chapter.

For several seconds, my eyes have come to rest on the two empty chairs and I know something is off.

The large pavilion we’re using as an assembly hall is filled with people, all listening attentively to Jake, who’s pacing in front of us. He’s in the middle of explaining the plans for the expansion of the crops fields he’s developed together with Mom and Mrs. Franks, both of them now standing next to him, nodding approvingly.

They’ve indeed put a lot of thought into this, that’s more than obvious, considering they’ve apparently provided for all contingencies. And I know how proud Mom is on the solution they’ve eventually come up with. And yet. Jake’s voice fades into a faint background noise, muffled and distant.

I can’t take my eyes off the chairs.

Two empty chairs – one to my left, one to my right. In an assembly hall full of people, I’m the only one who sits alone.

Of course, it’s probably just a coincidence. ‘Cause what else could it be?

Inconspicuously, I let my eyes roam across the room. No one is paying attention to me. Eventually, I meet Alex’s gaze, who’s sitting on one of the chairs at the side. Apparently though, my situation doesn’t strike her as odd in any way. She just makes a yawing gesture in Jake’s direction, then shoots me a grin.

I return it, as convincing as possible, in truth however struggling not to let it show how uncomfortable I’m actually feeling right now.

Except for her, no one else meets my eyes. Instead, they all listen to Jake’s words with focused faces.  The people I know. The people I like. The people I’m a part of.

Me, just one face amongst them. And yet, with an empty chair on either side, we suddenly feel like miles apart.

 

There’s one crucial difference between suspecting something and knowing something for a fact: If it’s just a suspicion you have, there are always ways to shrug it off. There’s always the possibility to come up with some ridiculous reason just to keep on living in blissful denial. And if you manage not to spend too much thought on it, the world will stay in perfect order.

Only once that suspicion turns into an undeniable fact, turning a blind eye is so much more difficult.

I have the feeling this is the case with some of the people here at the ranch. I mean, just as Coop and the other militiamen said: With all the time Troy and I spent together, with all the visits and the sleepovers, there is just no way people weren’t already secretly raising their eyebrows at us at the very core of their minds. They _had_ to be suspecting. And yet. Nothing ever happened.

Until we crossed the ranch with a pickup full of moving boxes. Until a little family moved into the cottage and its previous owner didn’t go back to his mom’s place, but is now seen every night returning to another man’s home, openly and unashamed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Who knows what kind of excuses they previously came up with to justify Troy’s and my closeness. Now that we were actually living together, they had to face the blunt truth.

Ironically, it wasn’t any different for me either. I fell prey to the very same mixture of denial and wishful thinking as they did.

That day at the assembly hall, I’d noticed some kind of subtle shift for the very first time. Just a suspicion though – and just like the ranchers, I’d been all too willing to come up with the most absurd excuses to shelter myself from the cruel truth: _They hadn’t noticed the chairs next to me were empty. They’d assumed I was saving them for Troy and Coop. Or maybe my deodorant had failed me._

In the coming days, however, I noticed more and more little details pointing to the truth.

I’ve always gotten along extremely well with Mrs. Andrews, our cook. Liked her from the very start and it was a mutual thing. I always praised her cooking exceedingly – and it _is_ in fact excellent, it wasn’t me toadying to her. She on the other hand would often give me an extra scoop of soup or pick the largest steak for me, shooting me a smile and mumbling something about us boys having to eat to keep up our strength.

Lately, however, I’m getting the feeling she can’t even look me in the eyes anymore. She’s still smiling, yeah, but it feels strangely forced in a way and not fully directed at me but rather at some invisible version of myself standing just an inch away.

Her acting differently hurts me especially hard and slowly but surely my suspicion turns into an unsettling certainty.

_Please, God, no!_

I didn’t want that! I didn’t want anything to change about the way life worked here at the ranch, about the way people treated me and included me in their everyday life. They’d all been so kind and accepting to us ever since the day we showed up on their doorstep.

Effortlessly, they included us in their community: Having a conversation with anyone was never a problem. No matter who you’d end up sitting next to at the canteen, we were all connected by our home, so with a simple “Busy day?” you’d always have the perfect conversation opener with anyone. In that regard, living here at the ranch had felt like being accepted into a huge family.

Watching this change would break my heart.

Especially since I’d be the one responsible.

 

No matter how much I wish there was actually some harmless explanation for all of this, I do get the definite confirmation to my fears about one week later, on a Thursday afternoon. I’m assigned to a mission with Coop and Pam and just quickly dropping by the pantry to get a new set of batteries for our flashlights, before heading to the barracks to meet up with my colleagues.

Quickly, I hurry down the stairs by the entrance, then turn a few corners until I’m standing right in front of the shelf I’m looking for. Without wasting any time, I grab two packages of batteries, put them in my pocket and hastily turn around to make my way to the rendezvous point – when all of a sudden I nearly bump into Mr. Rowlands, Jimmy’s dad, who seems to have appeared next to me out of nowhere.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Rowlands,” I apologize immediately, “I didn’t notice you at all.”

Pushing past him, I hear him mumble a few words in return, at first thinking it was something along the lines of “Watch where you going!” or a similar phrase to express his displeasure about the near collision. Only once I’ve passed a few shelves, the realization of what he _actually_ said hits me like a bolt of lightning. I freeze.

“Jeremiah would turn in his grave.”

Do you know the feeling of something hitting you so hard your face ends up blushing, your throat drying and your heart clenching all at the same time? That’s what I’m feeling right now as his words sink in and replay in my head over and over again.

And once more, my consciousness strives to seek shelter in the form of immediate denial: “No, he didn’t actually say that. You misheard!”

Yeah, well… I _know_ what I heard. And the implication gets to me so much. I know I should confront him on this. I know I should defend myself. But all I’m feeling right now is a profound nausea… All I want is to get away. To forget this ever happened.

And so I run.

                                                                                                                           

In front of the barracks, Coop and Pam are already waiting for me. As soon as they spot me approach, they notice immediately something’s wrong.

“Everything alright, Clark?” Coop asks me with a worried look. “You look pale.”

“Are you not feeling well?” Pam wants to know. “We can do this without you if you’d rather head home.”

“I’m fine,” I bark at them, maybe a bit too harsh, considering they only meant well. Immediately, I shake my head. “Sorry. I just lost track of time and came here in a hurry, because I didn’t want to make you wait. And turns out I failed.”

Coop and Pam share a long look, then the large man shrugs. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. It was just two minutes or so.”

“Exactly,” Pam agrees with an amicable nod. “It’s not like we’re applying Troy’s standards when he’s not around!”

Shooting them a weak but appreciating smile. “Thanks, guys.”

No matter their kindness, I’m having a hard time getting my head into the mission. No matter what I think about, my mind always ends up back in the pantry, eye to eye with Mr. Rowlands and his hurtful remark. But most of all, I’m thinking of Troy.

What if he finds out about this? What if they end up hurting him as well?

Truth is, no matter how smoothly things played out with the militia, we only went through with this because I pushed it. I assured Troy people would accept it.

But now, it’s not even “What if I’m wrong?” anymore. Now, the only question left is: “What will be the consequences?”

No matter the hard shell, Troy loves this place and the people living here more than anything in the world. Being hurt by them would get to him, it would _shatter_ him.

So inwardly I even pray that I’m the one drawing all their attention to him. I pray that I’m the only one they discriminate against. I pray I’m the only one they blame.

“Nick?”

Hopefully, with Troy they won’t dare to risk an open confrontation. After all, everyone knows it: If you irritate Troy, you don’t wanna see the thunderstorm that comes lashing back at you.

I can bear it. I _will_ bare it! As long as they leave him alone.

“Nick!”

I blink.

Pam’s standing by the passenger side window, looking at me. “We’re here. Aren’t you coming?”

So needless to say, the mission kind of passes me by in a blur. We have to enter a building to get a specific package of insulin units Pam’s looking for – but unfortunately the entrances are blocked by walkers. Long story short, eventually we split up to find another way inside and I end up coming across some sort of sewer tunnel that leads inside.

Wading knee-deep in stale waste-water and months-old excrement, I push on to the first corner, gagging, fighting back the urge to throw up.

What a fitting finale for this shitty day!

At least I get my hands on the meds.

 

***

 

When I get home, I find Troy sitting at Jeremiah’s desk, some disassembled device spread before him. He’s holding a screwdriver in one hand, a flashlight tucked between his teeth.

“Hey, Troy,” I greet, only barely stopping in the doorframe.

Troy startles for a moment, then looks up at me and puts the flashlight down. “Oh, hey, Nicky,” he says. “Didn’t hear you come in. I was just trying to get this shit to work…”

“What is it?” I ask, half-heartedly.

“One of the generators,” he explains, already focusing back on the device. “Must be some kind of loose contact, but hell, I’m no electrician.” He ends up hitting the case with his fist in frustration, but that of course doesn’t even remotely help to fix the defect.

So instead, he turns his attention back to me. “How was the mission? Did you get the meds Pam wanted?”

“Yeah,” I reply slowly, then open my mouth once more to start with my report. Just a blink later, however, I reconsider. “You know what…” I say instead, covering up my misery with some half-assed smile, pointing at the stairs, “think imma call it a day. Mission’s been really exhausting, and I’m all dirty and tired.”

“Okay?” he counters, surprised. “But it’s only half past seven. What about dinner? Don’t you wanna grab a bite at the canteen?”

No. The canteen is actually the last place I wanna be right now. “I already had a bite,” I tell him. “But you should go.” Pursing my lips. “I’ll just take a quick shower and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” he replies once more, the puzzlement in his eyes now making way for worry. He’s eyeing me intensely, trying to find out what’s going on.

“Okay,” I simply nod, shooting him a weak smile. _I’m fine, don’t worry_. “Good night.”

“Night,” comes his reply, as I turn away and hurry up the stairs, heading straight for the bathroom.

 

It feels good not to be forced to pretend anymore. With the hot water running down my skin, the profound sadness and hurt washes over me like a force of nature.

And once the storm has finally died down again, right here, in the safe room of the shower, the air moist and steamy around me, I find the courage for anger.

For the first time, thinking back to this moment in the pantry, I don’t feel like the culprit anymore. I feel like the victim. The victim that has been wronged in such an unfair way. And suddenly I’m coming up with a hundreds of retorts I should have hurled back at Rowlands when right at that moment, I couldn’t even think of one.

_Jeremiah would turn in his grave._

Jeremiah, my _ass_! Jeremiah didn’t give a shit about anything but himself, Rowlands – not about you, not about your family, not about this place! That asshole you’re all worshipping so much is actually the last person who has the right to turn in his grave about _anything_ , and by the way, so are you! You have no idea about the sacrifices some of us had to make just so you can go on living in your freaking lil’ Disney World – and dissing the very same people for the little piece of happiness they actually might have found despite all of it!

‘Cause yeah, Rowlands, turns out this very person you’re spitting in the face right now is the one reason you and your freaking family are still alive! Never mind the agony he’s still suffering every single fucking day because of what he was forced to do! Never mind the hell Jake and Troy had to go through losing their dad, then finding out the truth about him, and now being forced to play along in this charade of his _supposedly_ heroic sacrifice nevertheless!

You have no _freaking right_ to judge any of us! And I swear to God, if you ever dare to look askant at me again, I’ll drag your ass to Otto’s grave and we’ll find out who’s _actually_ turning in their grave!!

Abruptly, the water stops, jerking my mind back to reality. Time’s up. The shower’s equipped with an automatic switch that limits the time for showering in order to save water. I got so worked up in my thoughts, I lost track of time.

Grabbing the towel to dry myself off, I step outside the shower and – compared to the heat inside – the air surrounding me now feels strangely cool. And similarly, just as intensely as my sudden anger surged over me mere seconds ago, it’s gone again.

Yeah, I could have said all those things to him. Of course. But then what? I’d trigger the one thing I always fought so hard to prevent: I’d throw the ranch into chaos and drag our home and our future into the abyss.

Wrapping the towel around my hips, I step in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping my hand over the fogged surface. An irregular stripe returns my reflection.

I expected the face of a vengeful spirit.

But all that’s staring back at me is a sad and crestfallen boy.

 

A quarter later, I’m curled up in the bedsheets, lying in silence in the darkness of the bedroom. Over and over again, my thoughts keep circling around this one issue.

Maybe I should get help. Maybe I should talk to someone about this. But whom? Anyone I can think of would only make things worse.

Mom would be so upset she’d immediately pick a fight. She’d end up causing the rift I’m trying so hard to prevent.

Alicia isn’t an option either. It took her so long to come to trust in these people living here. With just a few words, I’d shatter all those hard-earned sympathies.

Jake wouldn’t tolerate his brother and his brother’s boyfriend to be discriminated against – but by taking action, he would only end up damaging his own authority since people would accuse him of being biased.

Talking to Jimmy about his dad’s words isn’t an option either. I could never put him in this awkward position of being caught in the middle.

And finally, Troy… _No way._ He’s the last person who can find out about this. Firstly, I convinced him we’d be fine – and now we’re not. Secondly, same reason as Mom. Thirdly, who knows whether he’ll leave it at picking a fight.

I have no one. No one I can confide in on this. I need to get through this and come up with a solution all by myself. And realizing this, I suddenly feel a profound loneliness weighing on my heart.

I lie awake like this for a while, until I eventually hear the door open, footsteps coming inside. Automatically, I take a quick glance at the clock radio. It’s not even nine. Far from Troy’s usual bedtime.

And still. I feel him climb into bed next to me, arms softly wrapping around me, his forehead resting against my shoulder blade.

He knows I’m not asleep yet as I respond to his touch by putting my arm over his. And yet, he doesn’t address me, doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask any questions. And I’m so grateful for that. All he does is just lie there with me in solidarity, being there for me the only way he can with me shutting him out.

Being moved so deeply by this, a sudden wave of pain hits my heart once more and I close my eyes to suppress the creeping sadness.

_I’m sorry, Troy. But I need to get through this alone._

And yet, with his warmth and silent compassion by my side, there’s one thing I mustn’t forget: I may feel alone on this, yeah. But in truth, I’m not.

 

***

 

As fate would have it, I run into Rowlands again right the next day. He’s having lunch at the canteen, eating his meal at one of the tables outside the big pavilion. By himself on top of that – _good_. I don’t dread the confrontation. On the contrary. I’ve been hoping to get him alone.

I haven’t slept much last night, as was to be expected, and even though all that pondering didn’t lead up to any real conclusion, there is one thing I realized: I need to confront him about this, appeal to him, try to resolve this issue before a snowball turns into an avalanche that can’t be stopped. Be it from their side or ours.

I hastily make my way inside to get my own serving – Mrs. Andrews once again friendly but distanced, but she’s not my focus today. Tray in hand, I step outside again, walking over to his table determinedly.

He looks up at me in surprise as I set my tray down right opposite his, then swing my leg over the bench to sit down. I don’t ask permission to join him. After all the shit he made me go through with just one stupid remark, he owes me as much as to accept it.

“Mr. Rowlands,” I start calmly, face serious, ready to give him the speech I’d mentally prepared. Not the original shower speech of course, but a different, a tamer version, simply to stress how much Troy and I are doing for this place, to make him realize how badly they need us and how they definitely shouldn’t alienate us.

Opening my mouth to start, I’m just in the middle of taking a breath, when all of a sudden and to my utter surprise, Rowlands silently grabs his tray and gets up.

_What the...?!_

Of all the reactions, I hadn’t anticipated this one. Totally perplexed, I’m forced to watch him leave without gracing me with one single look.

The only thing that can be said in his defense is that his plate is _actually_ empty, so at least it’s not like he sits down at another table to finish his meal.

And yet.

For several seconds, I just sit there in disbelief, staring after him, unable to wrap my head around this unexpected turn of events. I’d gathered all my courage to have an honest heart to heart with him. The fact that he now effectively didn’t even allow me that much, feels like an absolute slap in my face.

Lost in my own thoughts for several moments, I at first don’t even notice the shadow that eventually drops on me. Only once someone clears their throat, I blink.

There’s an elderly woman standing next to the table. Long blonde hair and a friendly face. _Christine_. I haven’t had that much contact with her yet. She’s mostly working with Mrs. Franks, taking care of the crops and working on the fields, so not that much overlapping with my daily routine.

“Is this seat taken?” she asks, before setting down her tray right on the spot where Rowlands’s had been merely a minute ago.

She must have observed the scene that has just taken place here, no doubt about that.

“As you can see,” I reply, not really looking up from my plate, whether out of anger or shame, “people are practically waiting in line to sit with me these days...”

She doesn’t comment on that, but joins me nevertheless. Then she picks up a few beans with her fork, eyeing me curiously. “A penny for your thoughts.”

Whew, _a penny for my thoughts?_ Tough one. I may not even be sure myself.

“You must think we’re nothing but a bunch of conservative bumpkins,” she answers her own question after I fail to do so.

“Actually,” I sigh, raising my eyebrows in resignation, “I rather think this is on me.” It’s true. I more and more get the feeling we simply shouldn’t have moved in together after all.

“Don’t,” she counters immediately, shaking her head at me reproachfully. “People tend to be extra sensitive when it comes to sex or sexuality – especially when it’s someone else’s. Our glorious Protestant legacy, I guess.” She shrugs. “Even though in reality, sex is such a wonderful thing. You can’t have enough of it.”

Okay, now that _does_ come a little unexpected… I always thought Christine was a nice, but harmless elderly woman. Hearing her talk about sex so openly, impresses, but also embarrasses me a little. So I end up replying with a sheepish smile.

She nods at me. “I mean, you’re both young, you’re handsome… Why shouldn’t you enjoy each other?”

“Thanks,” I say eventually, “but that’s not the only thing defining our relationship.” I feel the need to make this clear, as suddenly I’m starting to worry this conversation might be heading towards the exact opposite extreme.

“Of course not,” Christine smiles, to my relief. “And yet, the fact that you’re giving each other comfort in dark times isn’t the part that offends people. In the end, it’s always about sex.”

I remain silent once more. She’s right, but there’s just no way I’m gonna keep my hands off Troy for the rest of my life – just because some people may disapprove.

“You know, when I was your age,” she continues eventually, swallowing another bite of her lunch, “it was the wild sixties… Oh, the fun we had…” She rolls her eyes fondly, then gives me a long sigh. “Didn’t sleep a second during Woodstock, I can assure you.” She then shrugs and looks at me. “And the things we did… Oh, a lot of them would probably make you blush.”

I doubt that. I hardly blush when it comes to sex. But I get her point. So I chuckle innocently.

“All I’m saying is,” she grows serious again, “not everyone here at the ranch shares those conservative views. Please don’t get the impression they’re the majority.”

I smile back at her, appreciating. “Thanks, Christine,” I murmur gratefully. “I know it’s just a few people. But unfortunately, a few can be enough to give you headaches.”

“I’m aware of that,” she replies with an understanding voice, “but try to be lenient with them, still.”

“Lenient?” I counter, surprised. “Well, _I’m_ not the one reproaching them with their lifestyle!”

She just raises her eyebrows at me. “Or their views?”

For several moments, silence settles over us, as I stare back at her in surprise. Taken aback, I think about her words. Then, eventually, I can’t help pursing my lips, giving her an impressed smirk. “You are a clever woman, Christine,” I say, pointing at her with the blunt end of my fork. “Beware the nice ones…”

She just smiles slyly. “You know, this place runs on a delicate balance, just like nature. Everyone living here has their very own, essential part to play. Like in a house of cards, every card is vital – otherwise the entire structure will collapse.” She holds my eyes. “As hard as it is, in the end both of you will have to leap over your own shadows.”

Casting my eyes down almost a little guiltily, I purse my lips, then add with a murmur, “And I thought in the New World _might is right_.”

“The way I see it,” she counters with an amicable smile, “the one thing that’s _truly right_ in the New World is tolerance.”

 

***

 

“I’m home!” I call, once I close the door behind me that evening. “Troy?”

There’s no reply – probably Troy hasn’t returned from his supply run yet.

Maybe that’s a good thing – I’ve got a lot to think about anyway. Christine’s words still resounding in my head, I effectively feel just as beat as yesterday. Once again a different view, once again different obligations and consequences to consider. I’ve been in fight mode, now I have to switch back to peace mode. It’s exhausting. I’m tired. I wish things would just go back to the way the used to be, before the move.

Taking off my shoes and jacket, I sluggishly shuffle into the kitchen. I already had dinner with the squad I was on patrol with earlier, but I’m sure a cup of coffee would do me good. So I fill the tank of the coffee machine with water and put a few teaspoons of ground coffee into a filter cone. It will take a few minutes until the coffee’s ready (damn the times of capsule coffee makers are over…), so standing around waiting, I pull out a package of cigarettes and absentmindedly light one of them. Maybe this’ll help to clear my head.

Taking a few drags, I wince hard as all of a sudden I notice a shadow from the corner of my eye – there’s someone standing in the door.

“Jesus Christ, Troy!” I hiss, rolling my eyes reproachfully. Sometimes he does have the ability to materialize out of thin air like a ghost. “I thought you were still out.”

“No, I was downstairs in the basement,” Troy explains casually, not however without adding just as reproachfully: “I called when I heard you.”

“The coffee machine is pretty loud,” I counter a bit sheepishly, almost automatically stubbing out the cigarette in the sink. What a waste. Couldn’t he have waited just one more minute?

“Talk to me, Nick,” Troy says eventually, eyeing me with a worried expression. “I’ve spoken to Coop about your mission yesterday. He said you had to wade through an underground sewer to get the meds Pam wanted.”

I feel him observe my every reaction.

“That sucks, of course,” he admits casually, “but it’s no reason to be heartbroken like that.”

“I’m not _heartbroken_ ,” I snort, pushing myself off the counter. The coffee’s ready. Turning around, I remove the filter cone from the coffee machine, toss it into the garbage can.

“Then what is it?” Troy insists.

I shake my head. Just let this go, okay? “Do you want some, too?”

“No, thanks,” he replies.

So I take a single mug from the shelf and fill it with coffee – the scent of the freshly brewed liquid soothes me a little.

“Is it the others?” Troy asks eventually, voice calm. “Has anyone been giving you a hard time?”

I startle as he says this, forcing myself however not to let it show. How does he know? Has someone told him after all?

I slowly turn around, leaning back against the counter once more, coffee mug clutched in my hands as if I needed to warm myself on an icy winter day. “What makes you think that?” I ask innocently, giving him a puzzled look.

He’s leaning in the doorframe, crossing his arms. “What else could it be, after we just moved in together?”

I don’t know what to reply to that, and turns out this little moment of hesitation is enough for him to figure out it’s the truth.

Immediately, his face darkens. “Who?” he growls with a maliciousness that I haven’t heard from him in a long while. It sends a shiver down my spine.

“What does it matter?” I counter, playing it down. “They’ll come around.”

“ _Who_ , Nick?” he insists, urging me to give him a name.

“Why?!” I counter. “Why do you wanna know?! It won’t change anything about this situation.”

“How could you keep this from me?!” he cuts me off, raising his voice as if I’d betrayed his trust.

“Because I feared you’d react like this!” I yell. “Because I feared you’d react exactly like this! You’d grab a gun and pay them a visit at home.”

He snorts at me. “Yeah, damn right I should!” Growling full of disdain. “High time someone gives them a piece of his mind!”

“Troy!” I burst out, suddenly fed up with all of this. “You’re not _helping_ , you’re just making it all worse!” And a bit softer, I add: “We’re never gonna be able to live here happily and in peace if you pick a fight with them on this.”

“And we are if they keep treating us like this?” he counters with a snort.

I cast my eyes down. “Please,” I implore him. “I got this. Just let me handle this.”

He looks at me for a long time, then shrugs. “Alright, then. Fine,” he snorts eventually. “If you think it will magically get better just like that…”

“Do you promise?” I meet his eyes. “Do you promise you actually mean it? Can I trust you’re not just telling me what I want to hear to my face and go after them anyway as soon as I turn my back on you?”

He holds my eyes defiantly, then shakes his head, full of disdain. “They have no right to treat us like this!” he bursts out – so apparently I’ve been right to mistrust him after all. “They’re living under our roof, happily and safe! While every single day we’re out there, risking our freaking lives just so they can keep on enjoying their cozy lives here, like a bunch of fat maggots, living high off the hog. They should better show us some gratitude than have the arrogance to even bat an eyelash at us!” His words keep coming, like a hurricane unleashed. “So forgive me, but _no_. I’m not gonna stand by doing nothing, while these assholes make your life hell!”

“Damn it, Troy!” I now burst out as well. “This disaster is already hard enough for me as it is! I don’t have the strength to keep _you_ in check as well!”

“Keep me in check?” He snorts in disbelief, voice now high-pitched. “Then why the freaking hell don’t you stand up for yourself?!”

For a moment, there’s silence between us. I’m holding his eyes defiantly.

“Do you wanna slaughter cattle, Troy?” I ask eventually, glaring at him.

“So it’s Rowlands,” he figures out with a dismissive grunt. “That hypocritical son of a bitch.”

“Who the hell gives a shit about who it is?” I snarl back. Then go on, unfazed. “Is slaughtering cattle actually what you want? Because that’s what you’re gonna have to do, if you chase them off the ranch. Then it’s gonna be on us to grow crops, to prepare the food, service the water pipes, maintain the solar panels, the trucks and machines. All of that while patrolling, defending the ranch and gathering supplies.”

He’s grown silent.

“Is that what you want? Then be my guest,” I shrug. “But just so you know, it’s not what _I_ want. I don’t wanna breed cattle, clean their stables, put bullets in their heads. I wouldn’t have the guts to do it!” Then, a bit more conciliatorily, I shrug, “I mean, you know me, Troy. Leave me with a herd of cows, and I assure you, by the end of the day each one of them will have a name and eat out of my hand.”

He purses his lips at that, and I almost think I spot a weak smile. “Yeah, most likely…”

So softer, I go on. “All our jobs here at the ranch are important and valuable. We all need each other to make this work.”

“So what do you wanna do?” he counters, softer, too, but eyes narrowed in disbelief still. “Just grin and bear it? We’re just gonna let them get away with this?”

“Yes, we are!” I reply with emphasis. “Because _they’re_ gonna let us get away with this. If they alienate us, their world will crumble just as much as ours, if we alienate them. That’s what this place is all about. Living together, working together. That’s what makes us strong. We need them, just as much as they need us.”

He’s still eyeing me skeptically. “So this would be your advice? To a gay couple facing discrimination? _Turn the other cheek_?” He shakes his head.

“No,” I defend. “But that’s the advice I would give to a gay couple _after the world has ended_ , when unfortunately there are no courts anymore that I can just drag the asses of the ones who wronged them to and sue them. Regrettably, there are no longer any judges around that can sentence those people to cease and desist.” For a moment, I close my eyes. “In this world, we’ll have to figure out a way to make this work ourselves.” Then my eyes lock back to his. “We’ll have to accept the worst about them, just as they’ll have to accept the worst about us.”

I know I got him thinking now, as he doesn’t counter anymore, but casts his eyes down reluctantly.

 “Our love,” I start again, much softer now and with melancholy in my voice. I put the mug down, even though I haven’t even taken one sip yet. “Our love is supposed to be something _good_. I don’t want it to be the reason the entire ranch falls apart.”

“It wouldn’t be on us,” he points out half-heartedly.

“Maybe not,” I agree. “But it won’t help us if we’re standing over the ruins of the ranch saying: ‘But it wasn’t on us!’” So eventually I take a few steps towards him. “So, please, Troy, I beg you. Don’t meddle.”

He looks at me for a long time, then shakes his head. “But I can’t bear to see you suffer.”

“I’m not suffering,” I point out slowly, then wrap my arms around him, just because. I need his strength. I need his warmth. I need his support. “Not if you stand by me.” And suddenly I realize this is what I’d been missing, feeling so sad and lost and lonely those past few days. Him having my back.

Eventually, I feel his arms around me as well, and for a sweet, tender moment, him holding me close like this almost brings tears to my eyes.

I feel a gentle kiss on my hair, then his head comes to rest against mine.

For a long while we just stay there like this, holding each other. Then eventually I hear his voice.

“I stand by you,” he confirms with a whisper, “but I don’t understand.” He suddenly sounds very tired. “This is the greatest happiness in my life… How can they look down on this?”

His words give me a sting in the heart, but strangely, they’re also warming it at the very same time. My arms tighten around him. “I’m wondering the same,” I murmur eventually, smiling weakly. “For the record: word by word.”

What a crazy world. When he showed up in the doorframe, the coffee had been piping hot, and my heart cold as ice.

Now, the coffee may very well turn cold – but my heart’s filled with pleasant warmth.

 

***

 

We didn’t talk much else that night. I let it go once I had the impression Troy was genuine when he promised me he wouldn’t meddle for now. We agreed on giving it some more time, taking stock of the situation once more in a few weeks, and if things haven’t improved by then, there’s still the option of Troy confronting them or us involving Jake.

I hope it won’t come to that. At least as far as I’m concerned, I’m determined to not give anyone any reason to be offended.

And in fact, not long afterwards, I do get one more significant moment.

That day, I’m once again heading for the canteen to have lunch after a long morning of fence patrol. Determined not to risk anything, I sit down at one of the tables next to a bunch of teenagers, who’re in the middle of some silly, heated discussion about coke brands, so they don’t even pay attention to me.

Feels good to be ignored for once, I think, feeling safe in their presence on the one hand (because at their table, I am blending with the crowd), while on the other not sitting alone and isolated, stigmatized to everyone’s eyes.

I’m really enjoying my meal like this, silently listening in on their conversation, until suddenly they’re all done eating, and not even two minutes later, grab their trays and get up.

Well, it was too good to be true, I think with an inward sigh, already bracing myself mentally to remain alone at the large table after all, when reality comes up with an even more cruel irony.

Turns out, at the very same table, just on the other side of the four teenagers, sits Mr. Rowlands, and now that they’re gone, the sheltering wall between us is gone as well, leaving the two of us to sit with each other once again.

It’s obvious he’s just as shocked as me as our eyes meet for a very brief moment. And yet. I can’t help it. I swore to myself I would be nice and amicable to everyone, but this sudden and unexpected confrontation conjures up a nasty déjà-vu inside of me. Instinctively, I want to get up and move to a different table, even if it’s just to deprive him of the chance of pulling that shit on me a second time. I couldn’t bear to be the victim of this once more. This time, no matter what, I need to be the one in charge.

So I’m just about to get up from the bench, when all of a sudden, I feel two hands on my shoulders, greeting me with laughter – Alex –, and before I even realize what’s going on, a whole bunch of the guys and girls from the militia joins us at the table, filling all the empty seats between Rowlands and me.

“Hey, guys, enjoy your meal!” they chime merrily, addressing both of us.

“I’m hungry as a hunter!” Coop gnarls immediately, shoving a big forkful of steak and vegetables into his mouth.

“Me too,” Liam agrees quickly, trying to imitate Coop to come across as particularly tough as well, but naturally failing miserably.

In a moment’s notice, there’s a charming buzz at our table, laughing and chatting and joking, and even if I wanted to, there’s simply no way for me to follow through with my plan of leaving the table anymore.

Instead, a strange thought hits me like a bolt of lightning. They’re all so blissfully oblivious to what’s going on between Rowlands and me, including both of us into their conversation so friendly and effortlessly, them filling the empty seats between us feels like a symbolic analogy to our reality here at the ranch: The biggest majority of the people living here, the ones not taking any sides, they’re like the glue filling the gaps, connecting us, keeping us all together.

It feels like a revelation – liberating and burdening at the same time.

“Ohh, the steak is _good_ , Mr. Rowlands!” Alex chips in eventually.

I frown, at first not understanding why she would say this to him. Mrs. Andrews was the one who cooked it, not him. Then of course I get it. She’s referring to the meat itself, not the dish.

“Thanks,” Rowlands replies, snapping out of his stupor as well, once he’s suddenly addressed.

“You should rather thank the cow,” Liam corrects her smartly. “He just slaughtered it, but he can’t influence the quality of the meat.”

“That’s not true,” Alex counters immediately. “It’s the technique you use to slaughter the cattle that counts! I read that in a magazine. If the animal for example is nervous or scared, a special kind of hormone or adrenaline is being released, and that spoils the meat and makes it chewy.”

“Heard that, too,” Coop confirms.

Alex smiles at Mr. Rowlands. “So we’re very lucky to have such a skilled and professional butcher around!”

The bite I’m in the middle of swallowing at that very moment nearly gets stuck in my throat as she says this. I keep on eating my (unarguably tender and delicious) steak, but suddenly feel strangely guilty about it. I hear Christine’s words resounding in my head: _Everyone living here has their very own, essential part to play. Like in a house of cards, every card is vital._

“So how’s your wife doing, Martin?” Paul then asks Rowlands, taking a gulp from his glass of water.

“Good, good,” Rowlands replies immediately. “She’s much better now that she got the insulin. Thanks again for retrieving it for us.”

_Insulin?!_ I freeze. No freaking way! It can’t be! That was for Rowlands’s wife?!

“Sure,” Coop agrees with a nod, elbowing me in the ribs amicably. “Actually, you gotta thank our friend Clark over here.”

Rowlands freezes.

Coop – of course oblivious to our conflict – goes on with his little anecdote, totally unfazed. “He went as far as to wade through an underground sewer to get the meds!”

“Yeah, ohhh, that was _soo gross_!!” Alex comments, grimacing in disgust just as much as amusement.

“Oh,” is all Rowlands replies to that, before he casts down his eyes. “Thanks,” he murmurs, without looking at me.

“It’s okay,” I mutter, just as sheepishly, also unable to shoot him a look. I feel compelled to add something nevertheless. “Thanks for the good steak.”

And I think in that very moment we both realize it: We’re both benefiting from the excellent work either one of us is doing. No matter our actions, no matter our views. We’re both contributing to each other’s lives, making it more pleasant, happier, _better_. Him as much as me.

 

I’m not saying everything magically got better after this moment. It’s a long-term process.

Some people thawed more easily than others. For some it was already enough to come to trust in this new situation and realize nothing really changed and there’s no danger of any PDA between Troy and me anytime soon.

Because that’s the deal we’re settling for. We’re all making compromises to make this work. Ours being not to bother the others with our relationship outside our four walls. Theirs being not to care about what happens inside.

And so, weeks later, Mrs. Andrews gives me an additional scoop of soup.

Others are still struggling, even now. But we’re not giving up.

Because after all, we won’t survive in the New World if we keep on clinging to _might is right_. If we really wanna make this work, the only thing that’s right is tolerance.


	14. Anniversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again it took me a while to finish the next chapter, so sorry for the long wait!  
> So turns out, in the timeline of my story, already one year has passed since they got together - so Nick and Troy need to celebrate their anniversary, of course, at least if they get the chance to :)  
> Hope you'll enjoy it!

“One year of Troy and Nick, can you believe it?” It’s indeed no small amount of pride that’s mixing into my grin as I say this, since – considering the way we started – who would have guessed we’d ever get this far?

“Well, times sure flies when you’re having fun,” Coop replies with a shrug, shooting me an amicable look. “And wow, it means you didn’t suck as badly at hiding it as I thought you did – I mean considering we only grew suspicious a few months ago.”

I counter with a smug snicker, then lean back into the passenger seat, crossing my arms before my chest.

“Sorry you had to tag along,” he says eventually.

“Don’t worry about it,” I shake my head quickly. “There’ll be plenty of anniversaries to come… Besides,” nodding at the pickup in front of us, “Troy and me, we _will_ be spending the day together, just in a slightly different way than originally planned.”

It’s our second day on the road – tomorrow, the actual day of our anniversary, we should finally be arriving at our destination in Austin.

Austin. The Reznik & Son factory. Ever since we discovered the water pump there as our primary backup source of water one year ago, it’s become a well-established routine to head there every once in a while to replenish our supplies. Usually, it’s always the same team taking this trip – the ones who are familiar with the route and have the necessary technical knowledge. This time, however, a few people had fallen sick, so in the end it fell to Troy and me to take their places on the squad. Meaning: Our very first trip to the factory ever – and exactly one year after our initial water pump squad had returned back home (or rather: was rescued by us from a bunch of raiders).

“So you actually never suspected anything?” I start again after a while, shooting Coop a glance, whom I’ve been sharing this car with for a few hours now. “I mean, not even generally?”

“With you?” he returns my look for a second, then focuses back on the road. “No. I mean you were with that Latina girl when you came here…”

The fact that he apparently differentiates between Troy and me piques my interest. “And… Troy?” I ask, almost as a whisper. Dying of curiosity but also in a way afraid I might be digging into an area that’s none of my business – or even intrude on Troy’s privacy without him knowing.

Coop on the other hand replies casually. “Whew, Troy…” he shrugs. “Troy’s a tough case. Hard to read. Doesn’t really let his feelings show, so I sorta guessed he wasn’t really interested in stuff like that at all.”

Ah, okay. I guess I almost figured he’d say something like that. I’m already about to change the subject, when Coop suddenly adds something else that catches my attention after all.

“Even though in all honesty, I guess he sometimes had me raise an eyebrow, considering the way he treated Mike.”

I swallow, heart speeding up. “Why?” I ask, dreading what’s to come. I know I should stop here, but I simply can’t. “How _did_ he treat Mike?”

Coop shrugs. “Well, you know what Troy’s like, how hard he can lash out at people when he’s angry, scream at them in a rage.” He shoots me another look from the side. “Hell, _you’ve_ had your share plenty of times.”

“Yeah,” I murmur slowly. “Even though it’s been a while.” Naturally. Cause if he lashed out at me on one of our missions now, who would hold him at night?

“True,” Coop agrees, without any hints of enviousness. On the contrary – he seems pleased. “And I’d even say we’ve all benefitted from that, cause since he got together with you, he generally hasn’t been screaming that much anymore.”

“Not in the bad way at least…” I murmur a bit absentmindedly, then, for a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence.

“Hell!” Coop complains eventually, a deep frown on his face. “Yikes! Waaay too much information! Oh, I’m never gonna get that thought outta my head again!”

I can’t help chuckling at that. “That’s just me being wicked.”

“Screw you, Clark!” Coop goes on, but by now we’re both laughing so hard, we know it’s just us fooling around.

“So what about Mike?” I start again after a while, once we’ve grown serious again. “He was the only one Troy never lashed out at?” I take a guess.

“On the contrary,” Coop replies to my surprise. “No one got it as bad as Mike. I mean whenever one of us made a mistake, he was angry and sometimes even got worked up in that rage, sure. With Mike on the other hand… Whenever that poor bastard did something wrong, it was like the end of the world to Troy. I don’t think he ever applied standards that strict to anyone else. And whenever Mike failed to live up to them, it was as if Troy took it personal.” He sighs, then shakes his head. “One could really feel sorry for that guy. So… I dunno. Sometimes I thought that strange obsession of Troy’s with Mike was really weird.”

“Well,” I say eventually, thinking about Coop’s words for a while. “Weird, maybe. But to be honest, it doesn’t really sound like your typical display of affection, lashing out at someone all the time.”

“No, probably not,” he nods, “but… it’s Troy we’re talking about – no offense. Mike was special, even if it was in an unfortunate way.”

“Hmm…” For a moment my thoughts trail back to that day he murdered the Trimbols. A horrible deed, yeah, but thinking about the reasons, I’d always been convinced it felt more like a crime of passion than something one would do after losing a simple friendship…

“No, you’re probably right, Clark,” Coop says eventually. “I mean if he’d actually been in love with Mike, I don’t think Troy’d ever forgiven Walker for what he did to the Trimbols that easily…”

_Debatable_.

“Besides,” he then adds with another shrug, “the way he treated Mike was nothing like the way he treats _you_ – and you’re our _actual_ proof of how Troy acts towards someone he has feelings for. So whatever this thing with Mike had been, it couldn’t have been love.”

“No, obviously not,” I agree absentmindedly, even though on the inside I keep pondering.

It couldn’t have been love...

Could it?

 

***

 

Of course, the first time Troy and I are part of the water pump squad, things go anything but smoothly.

As soon as Paul connects our generator to the pump, there’s a quick buzzing noise, then the machine turns off altogether. A minor defect, as Paul analyzes quickly, but unfortunately, to fix it, he’ll need the circuit diagram of the various ports connecting the electrical controlling unit with the actual mechanical parts of the pump.

So bottom line is: We won’t get a single drop of water if we don’t get our hands on the required diagram.

There must be some kind of documentation archived in one of the office rooms upstairs, but since there was never any real need to go there, our comrades haven’t gotten around to clearing the upper floors yet – a task that now falls to all of us if we don’t wanna return home empty-handed.

We decide to split up into teams of two, one team for each floor, charged with clearing the offices there and searching for the desired diagram.

I do end up with Troy, which rarely happens on missions to be fair, but since everyone’s just frustrated right now, we don’t really feel like assigning teams but rather just stick to the person who’s standing next to us anyway.

Troy and I get allotted to the fourth and topmost floor, so a lot of stair climbing it is for us (elevator is of course not an option, cause well, there is no energy!). Once we’ve finally arrived, the corridor that spreads before us turns out to be a long and dark hallway, with about ten smaller offices on either side.

Next to each door, there are little name tags that used to inform visitors of whom they might encounter in there. I might have paid my respects to each of them, wondering about what kind of people they might have been and what horrible fate may have ended their lives, if were weren’t in sort of a hurry. Cause only once we get back down with the plan, Paul can start to fix the defect – and only once that’s done, the water pump will even just start working… And frankly, we all wanna get home before Christmas.

The first office, we clear together: Knives at the ready, we position ourselves left and right of the door. Then Troy barges in, me following closely on his heels. There are two walkers inside, two women in business clothes, but it must have been some time since the last time they’d experienced at least some kind of stimulus. They’re sluggish and slow. We quickly overwhelm them before they even get the chance to come at us.

Once that first room is clear, we switch to a different tactic: Troy stays in the room and starts knocking against the wall to the adherent room with a metal pipe. This will draw any potential walkers in the next room towards the source of the noise, significantly reducing the risk of me being attacked by the mandatory walker lurking behind the door, once I barge in to clear the office.

After a while, we switch, since the distraction job is significantly less exhausting than the executing job. But no matter the effort, we manage to take care of the entire floor in less than half an hour (as Troy can’t help noting).

We then start searching for the plans, office by office – even though most of them don’t contain any documents aside from client folders, orders or shipment paperwork.

The final office at the very end of the corridor is the most promising one – it’s larger and also has a more exclusive aura than the rest of the offices. A look at the name tag next to the door confirms it: Dr. Theo Reznik. We’re standing in front of the CEO’s office.

The wall on the right-hand side is occupied by a large filing cabinet that Troy immediately turns to, whereas I set out to go through the endless rows of folders stacked on the shelves on the far side of the room.

Must have been a stylish, light-flooded office once, judging by the impressive view: The wall opposite the CEO’s desk is made of glass, back in the days providing an undoubtedly stunning view on Austin; even at night, I imagine, with the lights of the city glowing in the distance.

Today of course, there are no lights anymore, so the huge window has turned into nothing more than an impenetrable veil of blackness, reflecting the light bulbs of our flashlights and the pale, ghostly mirror images of our faces as we go through the documents in the oppressive darkness surrounding us.

“Anything yet?” Troy asks after a while.

“Nah,” I sigh, increasingly frustrated. “All of these are just contracts and signed documents, but no technical documentations on the machines.” Raising my eyes for a moment. “You?”

“Nope,” he replies, shaking his head. “Even though there’s so much stuff in here, I may well have already flipped through it without even realizing it…”

I chuckle a bit desperately. “Oh, I hear you…” For a few more minutes, we go on in silence, then I purse my lips with a quiet snort.” You know, this wasn’t exactly how I pictured the night of our anniversary… Searching the office of some dead dude in the middle of the night, half a country away from home…”

At that, I notice him pause as well, shooting me a glance across the room – amused but no less curious. “Well, how _did_ you picture the night?”

“Well,” I shrug with a smirk, “I guess my idea of this night involved more privacy and less clothing…”

That gets him to laugh out merrily, until he raises his eyebrows at me defiantly. “Well, we actually do have some decent privacy here… and as for the clothes…” Shrugging. “I’d say we can work on that.”

Now I’m the one starting to laugh. Yeah, the thought is tempting, no doubt, but we both know it’s just us joking. The others are counting on us to actually do our job here diligently. Reason number one. Reason number two: It would just be some sorry, makeshift version of what we’d actually like to have, so really, what’s the point? We should rather put our energy into finding those plans so we’ll be able to return home faster and _properly_ make up for missing out on our anniversary with a celebration _actually_ worthy of the occasion.

“Can you believe it’s already been a year?” he eventually asks me with a soft chuckle.

I grin. “Nah, certainly not! Feels like yesterday that we came to the ranch. So much has happened since. Even though on the other hand,” looking up to meet his eyes, “it feels like I’ve known you forever, the _me before you_ so far away.”

He rewards me with a fond smile. “Yeah, sure does… I mean no less than a year ago, I’d been convinced I’d never find someone. And look at us now, here we are.”

I meet his eyes, shooting him a bright smile at this – his words touching me deeply.

And yet, inwardly they also make me frown. _Convinced I’d never find someone_? Okay, but that indeed wouldn’t exactly fit in with the Mike theory, would it? So maybe Coop’s conclusion in the car yesterday had been right after all? Whatever there’d been between Troy and Mike, it couldn’t have been love?

And still. My guts tell me…

I know this is not exactly the right topic to bring up on a night like this – no matter the circumstances. And yet, the words are out before my brain manages to file its veto.

“What happened between you and Mike?” I ask, stopping in my work, turning around to face him.

Troy immediately freezes as I say this, looking up from the filing cabinet with a deep frown. “What?”

“That day, when you went after the Trimbols,” I clarify. “What happened between you and Mike? He was your friend, and then he was dead.” I hold his eyes, not faltering. “What happened?”

“Where is that coming from?” he wants to know, startled, annoyed maybe even that I ruined our moment of sweet reminiscence with a sour memory like this.

“We’ve been through so much together,” I explain, coming up with a pretended explanation on the fly. “We can trust each other, with anything. I want to know you, Troy. More than I already do. I wanna know everything about you. I know your highest highs. And I want to know the darkest depths.” And as I say this, I realize it’s actually true, even though I’ve never thought of it that way before. “You told my mom you didn’t go after them with the intention of hurting them – and she said you sounded genuine. Then what changed? What happened between him and you out there that made the situation escalate?” Holding his eyes. “Why did you kill your friend?”

Troy looks back at me for a very long time, then, without blinking, he replies, cold as ice: “Because he was a spineless son of a bitch, who’d leave his friends and all of us to die, just to get his own ass to safety.”

It’s the reply I’d somehow anticipated, and yet, it doesn’t answer my question in the slightest. “Is that really all?”

“All?” He frowns. “Isn’t that enough? It was enough of a reason for _you_ when you shot Otto.”

I wince. He’s right in a way. And still, at least as far as I’m concerned, I know for a fact this was my only reason. As for him and Mike... “I don’t know,” I shrug. “My connection with your father hadn’t been _that_ deep. I liked him, respected him, yeah. But I hadn’t really known him that long. Mike on the other hand was your friend, and yet, you ended his life.” Shaking my head. “I dunno… I mean, what could he have possibly said to you that hurt you _so_ badly?”

The fact that I’m putting him in the position of the victim by saying this, the one who was hurt instead of the one who was hurting others, actually gets him to give in a little. I need him to know I’m on his side, no matter what. I don’t want to convict him of anything. I wanna understand him.

“Tell me what happened,” I whisper empathically as I put the folder in my hands back into the shelf, then slowly come over to him, closing the distance between us.

He holds my eyes, with every step I take, even as we’re just inches apart. In his eyes, I can see he wants to. He wants to tell me. And yet, there’s an invisible barrier holding him back.

“I can’t,” he whispers eventually, casting his eyes down.

I shake my head softly, fingers reaching for his cheek. “Why not?”

He leans in to my touch a little, but can’t bring himself to look back at me still. “Because then you may not love me anymore.”

“Troy,” I say, sincere. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Lifting his chin to make him look at me. “There’s nothing you could confess here that would make me love you any less.” I mean it.

He must realize it, yet he breaks away.

“I can’t,” he insists once more, pushing past me. Pacing around aimlessly for a moment, he eventually sits down on the floor, back leaning against the desk, facing the pitch black window, eye to eye with his own reflection. “I can’t.”

I watch him for a while, then cast my eyes down. “I killed my best friend, too,” I suddenly say, voice hoarse.

It comes out of the blue, and he raises his eyes at me in shock.

“It’s true,” I say with a stern look, holding his eyes. “Pre-apoc.”

Slowly, I come over to him once more, then let myself drop down next to him.

“Or at least I thought he was my friend,” I murmur eventually. “He was also my dealer. After all that shit went down with Gloria in the abandoned church, I confronted him about the drugs he’d given me. I thought he’d slipped me some crazy shit that made me lose my mind and see all those things…” Speaking quietly, almost to myself. “He denied it, naturally. There was a fight, and I ended up shooting him in the process.” I turn my head to him, gazing back at him in silence. Feels so strange, admitting this to him. Until now, he’d been the one with the dark and murderous past, whereas I’d been the innocent angel, the one always challenging him to strife to be a better person. Truth is, we’re not so different. We’re no different at all. And I realize if I want to get to the core of his soul, I’ll have to let him into mine as well.

“My slate has never been clean, Troy,” I whisper, now turning my head away again, resting my forehead on my arms. “I’ve done terrible things. Despicable things.” This second one is even harder to confess. “We had a neighbor who’d been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer,” I tell him. “Spent his days in bed, twenty-four seven, a constant morphine drip the only thing making it bearable.” I pause. “After the apocalypse hit and I was forced on my involuntary withdrawal, I snuck into their house and…”

I’m unable to finish my sentence. Guilt washes over me, shame. I never wanted anyone to know, especially not the ones I love. Confessing this to Luciana? Unthinkable. With him though, it may be different. “I made another person suffer agony, just to satisfy my own desires.” I finish eventually, then look back at him.

Troy holds my eyes. He listened to all of this in silence, not commenting on it, not asking any questions.

In his eyes, I see my own reflection. Nick through Troy’s eyes. I wonder if that’s a different person he’s seeing right now. If he does, so be it.

_I needed you to know. Know all of me. Just like I want to know all of you._

Eventually, he takes a deep breath.

“I told Mike that I loved him,” he abruptly whispers into the darkness, then turns away. “And he laughed at me.”

 

*

_I told Mike that I loved him, and he laughed at me._

Troy hears his own words as if they came from the outside. Spoken by someone else. Strangely distant and muffled. Was that really him?

In an instant, he’s back in the desert, the relentless midday sun glaring down at them, a blinding reflection on the car body.

And there’s the pain. It must have been the reflection hurting his eyes.

_Love me?!_ A perplexed expression darkens into a frown. Then a dismissive laugh. _God, Troy! Just what on_ earth _is wrong with you?! Do you even realize what’s going on around you? All you ever do is pick on me, criticize me, yell at me… You’re treating me worse than anyone else, and frankly, I don’t even see a basis for friendship here!_

And out there in the desert heat, the world froze.

_And now you even claim you’re in love with me? What the hell?? Just what kind of delusional world are you living in, Troy?! It’s all in your head!_

_All in your head…_

“I blacked out,” Troy speaks eventually, voice breaking. “All of a sudden, he was lying on the ground, bleeding from his head. Then I noticed the smoking gun in my hand.” He remembers he’d been distraught at that sight, staring into the dead eyes of his friend – because that’s what they were, right?! Friends. Had been since childhood! Everyone knew that! Why on earth would Mike claim otherwise?!

The pain had run so deep. And yet, at the same time, in a strange, strange way... For the first time in years, he’d felt _free_.

“The family came at me in no time,” he whispers. “That’s when things really got ugly...” Eventually he blinks, and he’s back on the cold floor of the factory office. He turns his eyes to Nick, looking at him. “You know the rest of the story.”

He didn’t want Nick to know. Didn’t want him to look at him differently. But Nick’s own honesty made him confess.

The rejected love had been so hard to admit, even to himself. The rejected friendship however… He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Never.

So in the end, he doesn’t tell Nick the whole story. But this incomplete version already is more than he ever thought he could.

“I’m sorry,” Nick suddenly says with compassion, holding Troy’s eyes.

And it’s the one reaction Troy’d never expected.

In Nick’s eyes, he spots his own reflection staring back at him. Is that really him? Troy through Nick’s eyes? A person one who _got_ hurt by the one he loved, the victim instead of the cold-blooded culprit? Which undoubtedly he was…

And yet, Nick sees him as a better person than he actually is.

_Thanks for believing in me…_

 

*

 

So it is true.

The thing I’d suspected from the very beginning, the thing he denied several times. It’s true. Troy was in love with Mike. When Mike left the ranch with his family, Troy didn’t just feel betrayed by a friend. He felt betrayed by the one person that meant the world to him.

And for the first time, I get it. That dark day, that had somehow always stayed blurred and foggy to me, a gap, a question mark in my image of him. I get it. I hate it, but I get it.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him with empathy, being only able to guess what must have been going on in his mind at that very moment. In his heart.

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” is what he counters eventually. “But that’s what happened.”

“Troy,” I call him, then turn to him, giving him a sincere look. “I already _know_ that’s what happened. I wanted to know _why_ , and now I do.” Staying quiet for a while. “I’m sorry your feelings weren’t returned. It must have hurt so badly.”

He doesn’t reply to that, just looks like there’s something else he wants to add, but in the end doesn’t.

I keep my eyes on him. “Was that the reason,” I continue hesitantly, “you were so shocked when I kissed you for the first time? Because you’d wished it was Mike?”

“Yeah, I guess it was one of the reasons,” he replies without looking at me. “In hindsight though, I couldn’t have been luckier it was you.” He tries to shoot me a smile, but fails miserably, then casts his eyes down again, expression growing distant. “Even if he’d returned my feelings… I guess it would have never worked out… He was just… He had so many flaws.”

Immediately, Coop’s words are back in my head. “I heard the others say that you and Mike fought a lot.” That’s my diplomatic way of saying _You yelled at him all the time_. “They say you were exceptionally strict with him…” Observing his every reaction. “Why? If you loved him, why didn’t you treat him better?” I ask softly. “You’re so good to me.”

“You’re nothing like Mike,” he snorts immediately. “Mike was a weak person. Always acting insecure. But there was more to him, I knew it. He kept selling himself short. I wanted him to make an effort. I wanted to make him better.”

_Make him better._ God, so that’s what this has been about, I realize it now. The discrepancy between Troy’s feelings and reality. He couldn’t accept the fact that he’d fallen for someone like Mike, someone who seemed so weak and flawed in his eyes. Someone who lacked all the things Troy respects and cherishes. He wanted to _shape_ Mike into a different person. A person he could accept to love more easily.

No wonder he overreacted on any mistake Mike made. Each one of them was proof that Troy’d failed in a way, that Mike was still Mike. And probably would always be. Troy didn’t just _take_ it personal. To him, it _was_.

If you look at it like that, it’s almost a little paradox that he came to love _me_. After all, I’m also soft and insecure, just like Mike’d been. I wonder how I’m actually more of a person Troy can accept to love… After all, with me he’s not trying to change or shape me in any way, right?

And if to answer my unspoken question, my eyes come to rest on my own reflection on the dark window. A strong young man looking back at me: Short hair, muscular build, determined eyes. I _have_ changed. I’m nothing like the weak-willed, scrawny kid I’d been when we left L.A. I’m sure that boy would have never been someone Troy could have fallen in love with – and if he did, he would have hated himself for it, just like with Mike.

Me on the other hand, I _wanted_ this. I wanted to become strong, become a survivor. And so I did. Also thanks to him, yeah. But not _because_ of him.

That’s the difference between Mike and me. Of my own accord – and accidentally even –, I became the kind of person Troy could accept to love – just the way I am. With me, he can be at peace.

“You on the other hand are strong, Nick,” he tells me seconds later, as if he’d read my mind. “You’re brave, you’re determined. Loyal. You’re adorable in every way – in the literal sense, I mean. There’s so much about you I adore.”

There’s a shiver running down my spine as he says this. Is that really me? Nick through Troy’s eyes? It sounds so strange, so not like me at all.

But Troy’s seeing me as a stronger person than I actually am.

_Thanks for believing in me…_

“You really think so?” I whisper eventually. “Despite everything I told you?”

“We both had our stories to tell…” he reminds me.

And suddenly, I can’t help giving a desperate chuckle. “Oh boy…” I hiss eventually, suddenly heavy-hearted and tired. “I guess it would have made for a better anniversary if we’d just made out after all, instead of digging around in the depths of our souls…”

“I don’t know,” he counters and right at that moment, I feel his hand on mine. “In all this time, I’ve never felt this close to you…”

I hold his eyes for a while, losing myself in them. “Me neither,” I reply automatically, as suddenly he catches my lips in a strong, heartfelt kiss.

And as I wrap my arms around him, I realize it: One of the final walls keeping us apart has been torn down. A breathtaking feeling.

Happy anniversary.

 

We go through the rest of the files and folders, the circuit diagram however remains undiscoverable. So empty-handed, we eventually return to the rest of our squad.

The teams that have already returned to the water pump weren’t any luckier either – so we’ve thrilled with joy when eventually Jimmy and Liam join us with big smiles on their faces.

“Guess what we found in the production manager’s office,” they chime, waving at us with a pack of paper sheets.

So not even an hour later, Paul happily announces he’s fixed the issue and reconnected the solar panels.

So as the sun rises the next morning, our tanks start filling with water.

 

***

 

We finally make it back home on Wednesday afternoon. Needless to say, we’re both way too beat to live up to our resolution to make up for the missed anniversary with a proper celebration. Instead, we practically go straight to bed like an old couple and sleep for eleven hours.

Finally well-rested, I feel like a newborn person in the morning and have regained my motivation to think of a way to do our anniversary justice after all. Being assigned to fence patrol in the morning, I have plenty of time to come up with some ideas on how to spend the evening as I march along our border, taking out the accidental walker rather automatically than with particular focus.

I should prepare something for Troy. Plunging my knife into the skull of a dead person. Dinner maybe. I mean, considering our dark and heavy thoughts at the factory – no matter how close they brought us emotionally –, I’m really craving for a few simple, happy moments. Beheading another walking corpse. In my opinion it doesn’t even have to be something as fancy as the candlelight spaghetti we had when I moved in. Something lighter, something more casual would be perfect! A cake maybe? Blood sprinkles as I smash the brain of the dismembered head, until it stops snapping. Yeah, that sounds sweet! A cake it is!

Luckily, after roughly twenty minutes of begging and giving him the puppy eyes, Cory eventually agrees on switching shifts with me in the afternoon, so I’m free to hurry home earlier to get the cake done before Troy returns from shooting practice.

To save time, I even stop by the pantry to get the necessary ingredients in advance, so I’m set to get right to work as soon as I arrive home.

And good thing I did, since shortly after I encounter my first unexpected delay, as I’m temporarily unable to locate the recipe book – I thought we’d put it on the shelf after our Bolognese cooking, but it’s not there. So I’m wasting precious minutes until I eventually spot it in one of the kitchen drawers.

Second obstacle is me realizing with shock we actually have significantly less flour left than I thought. Luckily, it’s roundabout enough for the cake – thank God! Cause a second trip to the pantry definitely wouldn’t have fitted into my tight baking schedule.

It’s a chocolate cake with thin slices of banana and chocolate frosting I’ve set my mind on. So nothing too complicated. Sticking closely to the instructions in the recipe book, I’m proud once the cake is in the oven in time and all that’s left for me to do is to slice the banana and prepare the frosting, so once I got everything ready, there’s still about a quarter left until Troy’ll return home.

I keep an eye on the window to make sure I spot my boyfriend approaching as I start cleaning the kitchen in the meantime. And then finally, there he comes.

Excitedly, I drop the dish cloth and hurry right to the door, opening it for him before he starts fumbling for his key.

“Hey, Troy,” I greet, a suspiciously innocent grin on my lips.

 “Hey, Nicky,” he smiles back at me, a little surprised, yeah, but definitely not suspicious. “What a service!”

“Today’s a special day,” I muse for a moment, before pursing my lips. “Well, at least four days ago was a special day!”

He enters and takes off his jacket and boots, while I close the door.

“Is that why you’re home already?” He shoots me a knowing grin over his shoulder.

“As a matter of fact,” I tell him proudly, “it is.”

He gets back up, then leans in to me to give me a quick, casual kiss of greeting.

“I’ve actually prepared a little surprise for you,” I tell him, crossing my arms behind my back in excitement.

“Mhm, I love surprises,” he informs me with an expectant smirk.

“Don’t expect too much,” I grin back at him. “It’s really just a little something. You need to close your eyes, though.”

“What, no blindfold?” he raises his eyebrow with mock-disappointment. “How boring...”

I roll my eyes at him fondly. “Be a good boy and comply,” I demand as he starts chuckling, then I hook my arm under his to lead him to the living room. “And no peeking!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he assures me half-heartedly. “You know I _am_ a good boy…”

“Well, I might be convinced…” I reply teasingly, before giving him a quick peck on the cheek and hurrying off, leaving him standing there alone as I take care of the final preparations. He must hear me light the match, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Alright,” I say eventually. “Open them.”

I’ve lowered the shades a little. Not all the way – we’re not celebrating in Dracula’s cavern. The light of the setting sun still falls inside in stripes of glowing orange. And yet, the room is dark enough for the candle to shine brightly in the middle of the room and have its desired effect: On the coffee table, there’s my cake and one small, single candle flickering on top of it.

One year of Troy and Nick.

He starts laughing softly as he spots the cake and the candle.

“Told you it wasn’t much,” I defend sheepishly, then come over to him.

“It’s really sweet of you,” he assures me with a fond look.

I smile back at him, then take a deep breath, gazing at him with a solemn expression. “When we first met, Troy,” I start, “you told me I didn’t strike you as a person who did shit. To you, I seemed like the kind of person who had shit _done to_.”

It’s obvious this isn’t the kind of topic he expected at all. There’s a frown darking his face as I talk about it. “I didn’t know you back then,” he defends hastily.

“No,” I insist, “you were right. I was indeed that kind of person before I met you. But not anymore. I’ve changed. I’m braver now, stronger. And I realize, a huge part of that I owe to you.”

His eyes grow soft as I say this, melancholic almost.

“I’ve learned so much from you, Troy,” I tell him. “Keep learning everyday. With you by my side, I’ve become the kind of person who survives. Thanks to you I can protect the ones I love, fulfill my Grand Cause.”

That gets him to smile fondly.

“I am who I am today, because I met you, and I can’t tell you how much I… What’s so funny?” I’ve stopped, since he’s suddenly started to give me a strange grin which made me start to wonder whether I actually have something in my face or between my teeth.

He breaks into a chuckling. “No, I’m sorry, it’s just...” He turns away. “Give me a second, okay?”

Slouching my shoulders in disbelief, I wrinkle my nose. “Please don’t tell me you’re heading for the bathroom now, while I’m in the middle of making my epic love confession.”

He starts laughing at that and shrugs, though there’s just so much affection and love in his eyes, I know he’s kidding as he replies with a “Well, some things are just more urgent than an epic love confession by your boyfriend.”

Not really sure what’s happening, I stand around waiting for a few moments, listening to footsteps heading down the basement stairs, just to come back up a few blinks later.

And as soon as he’s back in the doorframe, I suddenly get why he’s been grinning all the time. I immediately can’t help bursting into a disbelieving laughter myself. “No way!” I call. “When on earth did you bake this?”

“This morning,” he explains smugly as I shake my head.

“But we left the house together!” I insist.

He shrugs. “I returned. Coop covered for me on the supply run.”

“So that Troy Otto could bake an apple pie.” I laugh, then lean over the plate in his heads, taking in the scent. “God, smells delicious!”

He sets his cake down next to mine. Then turns back to me, for the first time serious. “I’m sorry I interrupted your epic love confession,” he says, holding my eyes. “But then again, I’m not. Since the one who should be making an epic love confession is me.”

He takes my hands. “You say you’ve become a different person because you met me, but in my opinion, you’ve always been strong and brave. You just didn’t believe in it.” He casts his eyes down for a moment. “Me on the other hand… I believed I was a lot of things, but turns out I wasn’t much of anything. The person who’s actually been changed, is me, Nick.” Eyes now locking back to mine. “I’ve also learned so much from you – and thanks to everything you’ve taught me, I can’t just _fulfill_ my Grand Cause. You’re the reason I even found one in the first place.”

I realize I’ve started to hold my breath while he spoke, moved so deeply by his words. “Not fair…” I whisper eventually, forcing myself to shoot him a wry grin. “Now you’ve ruined the effect of what I wanted to say.”

“What _did_ you want to say?” he asks me.

I’m casting my eyes down for a moment, smiling to myself. Then I meet his eyes. “I love you – that’s what I wanted to say.”

His eyes light up at that, then he smiles. “Not fair,” he whispers. “That’s what I wanted to say as well.”

I lean in to kiss him, realizing once more how true these words actually are as he wraps his arms around me and for a moment there’s just him and me.

 

Not even five minutes later, we’re sitting outside on the steps of the porch, Troy a bit below me, so he’s able to lean against my legs. We’re both having one piece of each cake, one of Troy’s apple pie and one of my chocolate banana cake. Our forks clinking softly on the plates, we enjoy the dessert in silence, overlooking the ranch.

“Two cakes for two people,” Troy eventually muses with a grin, picking up another bite of cake with his fork. “God bless the apocalypse!”

I can’t help chuckling. “Well, one cake per person is the least we deserve,” I insist, “now that the apocalypse has derived us of the possibility of doing something actually memorable for this occasion, like going on an actual honeymoon slash anniversary celebration trip…” Shrugging. “I mean, that’s what young couples do, ain’t it? Or at least used to do in the Old World…” I take another forkful of apple pie. “I mean, it’s not like I ever had much of a plan about my future, but I’ve always wanted to take a trip to Europe someday. Now that possibility is gone forever. There is physically no way I could get across the ocean anymore.”

“Well, physically there is,” he counters with a smirk. “If you got a few months, a solid ship, an old-fashioned compass and,” chuckling, “nothing to lose.”

Turning my head to him. “Funny,” I reply sarcastically. “And I was just about to suggest we could have gone on that adventure together…”

He turns his head back to the ranch and, eyes growing a little distant, he sighs. “You and me, travelling Europe?” Suddenly, there’s a smile curving his lips. “Yeah, I would have liked that…”

I’m not surprised, as for a moment the thought of the world map over his desk crosses my mind. Troy would have enjoyed travelling, I’m sure of that. Finding out about different cultures and people, learning new things. He would have loved this. “Me too,” I smile quietly. “I mean, just think about it: You and me, strolling along the Champs-Élysées, the trees in full bloom, the Eiffel Tower in the distance, eating crêpes…”

“We’d have the best hot chocolate of our lives in Switzerland,” he adds with a grin.

“Of course,” I nod. “And then we’d head for Rome, where we’d sit on St Mark’s Square, eating pizza on a warm and pleasant summer evening…”

“We’ll just kindly ignore the fact that St Mark’s Square is actually in Venice,” Troy chips in teasingly.

“Oh, tomato, tomato,” I counter with a dismissive wave of my hand. “We’ll stay there all summer, lounging at the beach with our sunglasses… And when it’s October, we’ll go to Munich and have fun at the Oktoberfest. That’s always been a dream of mine…”

“Also, in this case, we’ll kindly ignore the fact that the Oktoberfest actually takes place in September,” Troy corrects me with yet another grin.

Or rather: makes fun of me. Because… how stupid does he think I am?! “Oh, stop talking shit, Otto!” I complain. “The Oktoberfest takes place in _October_ , that’s why it’s called _Oktoberfest_. Duh!” Mock-threatening him with my dessert fork.

“Okay,” he gives in smugly. “If you’re so sure about it, then we’ll head to Germany in October. I certainly won’t shed a tear if we miss it. It’s just a huge beer-bust anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I wanna go,” I point out innocently. “So of course you’d have to join me. I need someone to drive me back to the hotel afterwards, or would you actually wanna leave my fate in the hands of some random stranger?” Raising my eyebrows at him.

He sighs at that. “Oktoberfest it is then.”

I smile at him happily. I love how we’re suddenly talking about this as if this was real, if we actually could just hop on a plane and make all those daydreams come true.

“So what’s the plan for winter?” he eventually asks, swallowing his final piece of chocolate pie. “Spring in France, summer in Italy, fall in Germany… What’s our destination for winter?”

“Moscow,” I say, holding up my hand before he can protest, “and yes, I know that’s not Europe.” Adding through my teeth, “Even I know that much…”

He relaxes with a content look.

“We’d roam the city, wrapped in thick coats, scarfs and beanies... and we’d experience our very first snowfall, strolling down a street bathed in Christmas lights…” I sigh with a dreamy voice, then suddenly I notice his hand on my knee. And the loving gaze in his eyes.

I try to reply with a smile, even if it’s just a weak one, but we’re already back on the ranch, underneath the glaring Californian sun.

Eventually, I shake my head. “I don’t care if we’d be on St Mark’s Square in Venice or Rome, or at the Oktoberfest in October or September.” Holding his eyes with conviction. “It would be perfect, cause you’re with me.”

He returns my look for a while and in his eyes I can see he feels the same.

A few minutes later, I put the final piece of cake in my mouth. “Alrighty,” I chime as soon as I’m done eating, slapping my thigh enthusiastically before getting up. “Done with the cake!” I announce boldly. “We can have sex now!”

I raise my eyebrows, shooting him a mocking grin as I quote his epic, epic fail from little more than a year ago. The one that had seemingly ruined everything, but in the end had been so essential to us ending up together here and now, celebrating our first anniversary.

Yeah, he’s sure come a long way, I realize all of a sudden. But then again: Hell, we’ve all come a long way!

Displeased with that joke at his expense, Troy kicks me in the shin. “You’re an asshole, Nick Clark…” he informs me with a little pout.

I can’t help chuckling merrily, then I smile down at him, fondly. “And you’re adorable – in the literal sense. There’s so much about you I adore.” Holding out my hand to him.

His eyes lock back to mine as I say this, his expression turning serious again, melancholic even. “You know what,” he says eventually, taking my hand. “It _is_ getting a little chilly out here, don’t you think?”

I pull him to his feet. Of course. If we just kindly ignore the fact it’s easily ninety degrees and we’re both sweating just sitting around…

And yet, suddenly eye to eye with him, I grin as I reply with a nod: “Freezing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it, the collection of stories that make up the first year of Nick and Troy's relationship.  
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented or left their kudos on this story so far, each reaction or piece of feedback really meant a lot to me!!  
> This is not the end of the fic, of course. We'll just make a little time skip here and head right into another big story arc in their relationship! So hopefully I'll see you around in the next chapter - two years from now :)


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